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IMli  Mi  i^i  m 


By  DMITRI  MEREJKOWSKI 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  GODS.  Authorized  English 
Version  by  Herbert  Trench.     12°     . 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  LEONARDO  DA  VINCI: 
THE  FORERUNNER.  (The  Resurrection  of 
the  Gods.)  Authorized  Enghsh  Version  from  the 
Russian.     12°.     With  8  lUustrations  . 

Artist's  Edition,  with  64  illustrations.     2  vols., 


PETER  AND  ALEXIS.     Authorized  English  Version 
from  the  Russian,     12"      .... 


Q.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
New  York  London 


PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  Romance  of  Peter  the  Great 


BY 


DMITRI    MEREJKOWSKI 

AUTHOR  OF  "the  death  OF  THE  GODS"  (THE  EMPEROR  JULIAN) 
AND  "the  ROMANCE  OF  LEONARDO  DA  VINCI" 


Sole  Authorised  Translation  from  tlie  Russian 


G.  P.   PUTNAM'S    SONS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

^be  f^nichecbocher  g)re60 


Clop-    c^ 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

THIS  remarkable  novel,  the  first  by  Merejkowski  on  a 
purely  Russian  theme,  completes  the  alread}'  famous 
historical  Trilogy,  of  which  The  Death  of  the  Gods,  and 
The  Forerunner,  or  Romance  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  were 
the  two  former  instalments.  For  some  account  of  the 
author,  and  of  the  main  idea  underlying  the  Trilogy,  the 
reader  is  referred  to  the  English  preface  to  The  Death  of 
the  Gods. 

These  novels,  which  may  be  read  independently  of  each 
other,  have  been  very  successfully  translated  into  all  the  prin- 
cipal European  languages  ;  and  the  exclusively  authorized 
English  translations  of  them,  published  in  England  by 
Messrs.  Archibald  Constable,  and  in  the  United  States  by 
Messrs.  Putnam,  are  being  again  issued  in  new  editions 
respectively  in  both  countries. 

The  present  translation,  although  it  is  feared  much  like 
Heine's  "  stuffed  moonbeam,"  has  been  made  direct  from 
the  Russian  original,  and  pains  have  not  been  spared  to 
render  it  exact.  Thanks  are  due  to  Mr.  W.  R.  Morfill, 
Reader  in  Russian  to  the  University  of  Oxford,  for  his 
kind  assistance  on  one  or  two  difficult  points. 

A  word  of  explanation  is  due  to  the  English  and 
American  public  with  regard  to  the  purpose  of  the 
present  work. 

No  one  who  knows  Merejkowski  personally,  no  one  who 
reads  his  story  with  a  fair  mind,  will  imagine  for  a  moment 
that  it  is  written  to  please  or  to  amuse  the  "  young  person." 
It  is  intended  for  men  and  women.  It  is  a  simple  and 
earnest  psychological  study  of  the  most  moving  episode  in 
the  life  of  the  greatest  of  the  Romanoff  princes.  It  is 
a  sketch,  vivid  and  true,  of  classes  and  conditions, — 
of    court    and  society,— of    peasants    and    wild  religious 

i>  95253 
Slavic 

51810. 


6  PREFATORY   NOTE 

beliefs — in  Russia  at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. As  regards  the  bulk  of  her  population  she  has 
not  materially  changed. 

Russia  at  that  time  lay  in  a  position  relative  to 
Europe  precisely  analogous  to  that  occupied  by  Japan 
thirty-five  years  ago.  The  vaster  country,  as  the  reader 
will  see,  was  beginning,  through  the  person  of  its  sovereign, 
humbly  to  learn  of  the  civilised  West,  just  as  Japan  began 
to  do  so  also  through  her  sovereign's  efforts  in  1868. 

But  in  this  book  a  strange  additional  feature  of  interest 
for  the  present  moment  is  a  psychological  feature.  The 
character  of  the  Romanoff  family  is  a  persistent  one  ;  and 
in  the  course  of  this  novel,  with  its  single  terrific  scene, 
dull  indeed  will  be  the  reader  who  does  not  step  by  step 
more  clearly  discern  in  the  soul  of  the  luckless  Alexis  the 
very  lineaments  and  complexion  of  Nicholas,  the  now 
living  occupant  of  the  Russian  throne.  This  is  the  key  to 
the  book.  Possibly  before  another  year  has  expired, 
perhaps  even  before  these  words  are  being  read,  he  will 
occupy  the  throne  no  longer;  and  the  forces  that  may 
remove  him  would  be  essentially  the  same  forces  as  those 
which  decided  the  fate  of  Alexis. 

London,  September,  1905. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Book         I.     The  Venus  of  Petersburg  ....       9 
Book       II.     Antichrist   ...... 


Book     III.  The    Private    Journal    of    the    Tzarevitch 
Alexis      .... 

Book      IV.  The  Flood   ...... 

Book        V.  Desolation  of  the  Holy  Places 

Book      VI.  The  Tzar's  Son  in   Exile 

Book    VII.  Peter  the  Great          .... 

Book  VIII.  The  Were-Wolf  ..... 

Book     IX.  The  Red  Death   ..... 

Book       X.  Father  and  Son  ..... 


51 

99 
171 

227 
271 
333 

415 
461 


Epilogue 
The  Christ  Who  is  to  Come    .         .         ,         ,         .         .513 


Book  I 

THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG 

CHAPTER    I 

"  yfNTICHRIST  is  coming.  He,  the  last  of  devils,  has 
■*^  not  yet  come  himself ;  but  the  world  is  teeming  with 
his  progeny.  The  children  are  preparing  the  way  for  their 
father.  They  twist  everything  to  suit  the  designs  of  Anti- 
christ. He  will  appear  in  his  own  due  time,  when  every- 
where all  is  prepared  and  the  way  smoothed.  He  is 
already  at  the  door.     Soon  will  he  enter  !  " 

Thus  spake  an  old  man  of  fifty,  a  clerk,  judging  by  his 
clothes,  to  a  young  man,  who,  wrapped  in  a  nankeen  dress- 
ing gown,  with  slippers  on  his  bare  feet,  was  seated  at  a 
table. 

"  And  how  do  you  know  all  this  ?  "  asked  the  young 
man.  "  Of  that  day  it  is  written  :  Neither  the  Son,  nor  the 
angels  know  ;  but  you  seem  to  know." 

He  yawned,  and  then  after  a  moment's  silence  asked  : 

"  Do  you  belong  to  the  heretics — the  Raskolniks  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  an  Orthodox." 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  Petersburg  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  brought  here  from  Moscow,  together  with 
my  account  books.  An  informer  reported  me  for  taking 
bribes." 

"  Did  you  take  them  ?  " 

"  I  did.  I  was  not  compelled  to,  neither  did  I  do  it  for 
the  sake  of  extortion,  but  in  all  fairness,  and  with  a  clean 
conscience,  being  satisfied  with  whatever  was  freely  given 
me  for  the  clerk- work  I  did." 


10  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

He  said  it  so  simplj'  that  it  was  evident  he  did  not  con- 
sider bribe-taking  necessaril}'  a  fault. 

"  The  informer  could  add  nothing  to  the  proof  of  my  guilt, 
which  was  disclosed  b}'  the  entries  made  in  certain  agents' 
books,  showing  that  they  had  for  years  been  wont  to  give 
me  trifling  sums,  amounting  in  all  to  two  hundi^ed  and  fifteen 
roubles  ;  and  I  have  nothing  wherewith  to  repay  the  sum. 
I  am  poor,  old,  sad,  wretched,  disabled,  destitute  ;  and  unable 
any  longer  to  do  my  work,  I  beg  to  be  discharged  of  it. 
Most  merciful  Highness  !  open  your  bowels  of  compassion 
unto  me,  and  protect  a  defenceless  old  man  ;  cause  me  to 
be  exempted  from  this  unjust  payment !  Have  mercy 
upon  me,  I  beseech  you,  Tsarevitch  Alexis  Petrovitch  !  " 

Alexis  had  met  this  old  man  some  months  ago  in  Peters- 
burg, at  St.  Simeon  and  St.  Anne's  Church.  Noticing 
him  because  of  his  unshaven,  grizzled  beard — so  unusual 
for  clerks — and  his  zealous  reading  of  the  Psalms  in  the 
choir,  the  Tsarevitch  had  asked  him  his  name,  position,  and 
whence  he  came. 

The  old  man  had  introduced  himself,  as  a  clerk  of  the 
Moscow  Arsenal,  Larion  Dckoukin  by  name.  He  had  come 
from  Moscow  and  was  now  staving  in  the  house  belonging 
to  the  woman  who  made  the  consecrated  bread  at  St. 
Simeon's  ;  he  had  mentioned  his  poverty,  the  informer's 
disclosure,  and  also,  almost  in  his  first  words,  had  referred 
to  Antichrist.  The  Tsarevitch  had  been  touched  by  the 
pitiable  condition  of  the  old  man  and  told  him  to  come  to 
his  house,  promising  to  help  him  with  money  and  advice. 
Now  that  he  stood  before  him  in  his  torn  coat  he  looked 
the  very  image  of  a  beggar.  He  was  one  of  those  poor 
ordinary  clerks,  nicknamed  in  Russia  "  ink}'  souls,"  "  petti- 
foggers." Hard  were  his  wrinkles  as  though  fossilized, 
hard  the  cold  look  in  the  small  dim  eyes,  hard  his  neglected 
grizzled  beard,  his  face  colourless  and  dull  as  the  papers 
which  he  had  been  copying  and  had  pored  over  may  be  for 
thirty  years  in  his  office.  He  had  accepted  bribes  from 
agents  "  in  all  fairness  "  ;  he  may  have  even  been  guilty  of 
roguery,  and  this  was  the  conclusion  he  had  suddenly  arrived 
at  :    Antichrist  is  coming  ! 

"  Is  he  not  simply  an  impostor  ?  "  surmised  the  Tsare- 
vitch,   looking    steadily    at    him.     There    was    nothing 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  ii 

deceitful  or  sly  in  this  face,  but  rather  something  artless 
and  helpless,  sombre  and  stubborn,  as  with  people  who  are 
possessed  by  an  idee  fixe. 

"  There  was  yet  another  reason  for  my  coming  here," 
added  the  old  man,  and  then  stopped  short,  unable  to  con- 
tinue ;  the  idee  fixe  was  slowly  working  its  way  through 
his  hard  features.  He  cast  down  his  eyes,  fumbled  with 
one  hand  in  his  breast  pocket,  pulled  out  some  papers,  which 
had  apparently  slipped  into  the  lining  through  the  pocket- 
hole,  and  gave  them  to  the  Tsarevitch. 

They  consisted  of  two  thin,  greasy,  quarto  booklets, 
filled  with  the  large  legible  handwriting  of  a  clerk. 

Alexis  began  to  read  them  carelessly,  but  gradually  be- 
came more  and  more  absorbed. 

At  the  beginning  came  passages  from  the  Holy  Fathers, 
the  prophets,  and  the  Apocalypse,  with  reference  to  Anti- 
christ and  the  end  of  the  world.  Then  followed  an  appeal 
to  the  chief  clergy  of  great  Russia,  and  of  the  world,  together 
with  a  prayer  that  they  would  forgive  him,  Dokoukin,  his 
impudence  and  rudeness  for  thus  writing  this  without  their 
fatherly  blessing,  prompted  as  he  had  been  solely  by  much 
suffering,  sorrow  and  zeal  for  the  Church,  and  with  a  further 
prayer  that  they  would  also  intercede  on  his  behalf  with  the 
Tsar  and  entreat  him  to  show  mercy  unto  himself,  and 
vouchsafe  him  a  hearing.  Then  followed  what  was  evi-. 
dently  Dokoukin's  main  idea,  "  God  has  ordained  man 
lo  be  master  of  himself  (to  exercise  self-will,  to  be  autono- 
mous,)" and  at  the  end  came  an  accusation  against  the 
Tsar  Peter  : 

"  Nowadays  we  are  cut  off  from  this  divine  gift^ife 
absolute  and  free  ;  as  well  as  deprived  of  houses,  markets, 
agriculture,  handicrafts  and  all  the  old  estabhshed  trades 
and  laws,  and,  what  is  worse  still,  of  Christian  religion.  We 
are  hunted  from  house  to  house,  from  place  to  place,  from 
town  to  town  ;  we  are  insulted  and  outraged.  We  have 
changed  all  our  customs,  our  language  and  dress  ;  we  have 
shaved  our  heads  and  beards,  we  have  basely  defiled  our- 
selves ;  we  have  lost  all  that  was  characteristic  both  of 
nature  and  bearing,  and  in  no  wise  differ  now  from  the 
foreigners  ;  we  have  once  and  for  all  mingled  with  them, 
got  used  to  their  ways,  broken  our  Christian  vows,  and  for- 


12  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

saken  the  holy  churches.  We  have  turned  away  from  the 
East,  and  directed  our  footsteps  toward  the  West,  we  have 
travelled  along  strange  and  unknown  paths  and  have  per- 
ished in  the  land  of  oblivion.  We  have  adopted  strangers 
and  have  showered  good  gifts  upon  them,  while  our  own 
countrymen  are  left  to  die  of  hunger,  to  be  beaten  on  dis- 
traint and  ruined  absolutely  by  unbearable  taxation.  It 
is  inexpedient  to  give  utterance  to  everything  ;  more  becom- 
ing is  it  to  place  a  bridle  on  one's  tongue  But  the  heart 
is  sore  distressed  to  see  the  desolation  of  the  New  Jerusalem, 
and  the  troubled  people  smitten  with  insufferable  scour- 
ges !  " 

"  All  this,"  ran  the  conclusion,  "  is  done  unto  us  for  the 
sake  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  O  Secret  Martyrs  !  fear  not, 
neither  despair,  but  rise  valiantly  and  arm  yourselves  with 
the  cross  to  repel  the  power  of  Antichrist.  Suffer  for  the 
Lord's  cause,  bear  all  patiently  for  yet  a  little  while  !  Christ 
will  not  forsake  us.  Unto  Him  be  praise  now  and  ever  more, 
world  without  end.  Amen." 

"  What  was  your  reason  for  writing  this  ?  "  asked  the 
Tsarevitch,  when  he  had  read  through  the  booklet. 

"  A  little  while  ago  I  dropped  a  letter  like  this  in  the 
porch  of  St.  Simeon's,"  answered  Dokoukin,  "  but  those  who 
found  the  letter  simply  burnt  it,  neither  reporting  it  to  the 
Tsar  nor  making  any  inquiries  about  it.  This  petition 
here  I  think  of  nailing  up  somewhere  in  the  Trinity  Church, 
near  the  Tsar's  palace,  so  that  whoever  reads  it  may  be 
informed  and  may  report  it  to  his  Majesty.  And  I  wrote 
this  to  bring  about  a  reform,  so  that  the  Tsar,  should  he 
once  come  to  himself  again,  might  amend  his  ways." 

"  A  cheat,"  flashed  across  Alexis'  mind,  "and  possibly 
an  informer.  Why  in  the  devil's  name  did  I  thus  commit 
myself  ?  " 

"  Are  you  aware,  Dokoukin,"  said  the  Tsarevitch,  look- 
ing straight  into  his  face,  "  are  you  aware  of  the  fact  that 
it  is  my  duty,  as  citizen  and  son,  to  report  these,  your  sedi- 
tious and  rebellious  writings,  to  my  father  the  Sovereign  ? 
And  the  twentieth  article  of  the  military  regulations  reads  : 
'  Whosoever  shall  use  seditious  language  against  his 
Majesty  shall  forfeit  his  life  by  having  his  head  cut 
off.' " 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  13 

"  It  is  for  you  to  decide,  Tsarevitch.  For  myself  I  am 
willing  to  suffer  for  Christ's  sake." 

He  said  it  in  the  same  unpretentious  manner  as  when  he 
was  speaking  about  bribes.  Alexis  eyed  him  yet  more 
closely.  Before  him  was  the  same  ordinary  clerk,  the  petti- 
fogger, with  the  same  cold  look  and  dull  face.  Only  some- 
where deep  in  his  eyes  something  was  again  struggling 
forth. 

"  Are  you  in  your  right  senses,  old  man  ?  Consider 
what  you  are  about  !  Once  in  the  torture  chamber,  there 
will  be  an  end  of  joking  ;  you  will  be  hanged  by  the  ribs  and 
smoked  to  death  like  Gregory  of  Talitsa." 

Gregory  of  Talitsa  was  one  of  those  prophets,  preaching 
the  approach  of  the  judgment  day,  who  had  declared  that 
Tsar  Peter  was  the  Antichrist,  and  for  this  reason  he  had 
suffered  the  cruel  death  of  being  smoked  on  a  slow 
fire. 

"  With  God's  help  I  am  ready  to  give  up  my  Hfe," 
answered  the  old  man.  "  To-day,  to-morrow,  we  all  must 
die  once.  It  is  meet  to  have  done  something  good  with 
which  to  come  before  God,  lest  death  should  be  our  lot  there 
also." 

His  manner  remained  as  simple  as  before,  yet  there  was 
something  in  the  calm  face  and  subdued  voice  which  in- 
spired the  conviction  that  this  arsenal  clerk,  discharged 
for  having  yielded  to  bribery,  would  really  meet  death 
without  flinching,  like  one  of  those  "  Secret  Martyrs  "  he 
mentioned  in  his  petition. 

"  No,"  the  Tsarevitch  promptly  decided,  "  he  is  neither 
a  cheat  nor  a  spy,  but  either  mad  or,  in  truth,  a  martyr." 

The  old  man  hung  his  head,  and  added  in  a  yet  lower  tone, 
as  if  to  himself,  forgetful  of  the  other's  presence  :  "  God 
has  commanded  man  to  be  master  of  himself." 

Alexis  rose  and,  without  another  word,  tore  a  page  from 
the  booklet,  lit  it  at  a  lamp  which  was  glimmering  before 
the  images,  uncovered  the  draught  hole,  opened  the  stove 
door,  shoved  in  the  papers,  and  waited  ;  he  stirred  them 
from  time  to  time  till  they  were  reduced  to  ashes,  then  went 
up  to  Dokoukin,  who  all  the  time  stood  watching  him,  laid 
his  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  said  : — 

"  Listen,  old  man,  I  will  report  you  to  none.     I  see  you 


14  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

are  an  honest  man  ;  I  trust  you.     Tell  me,  do  you  wish  me 
well  ?  " 

Dokoukin  did  not  repl3%  yet  his  look  made  words  un- 
necessary. 

"If  you  do,  then  banish  all  this  nonsense  from  your 
head  !  Never  even  dare  so  much  as  think  of  writing  such 
seditious  letters  ;  this  is  not  the  time  for  them.  If  it  were 
known  you  had  been  to  see  me,  I  too  should  fare  ill.  Go, 
God  be  with  you,  and  don't  come  again.  Don't  talk  with 
any  one  about  me.  Should  you  be  questioned,  keep  your 
own  counsel,  and  leav^e  Petersburg  as  quickly  as  possible. 
Now  will  you  remember  what  I  tell  you  ?  " 

"  What  else  can  one  do  but  obey  you  ?  "  said  Dokoukin, 
"  the  Lord  knows  I  am  your  faithful  servant  unto  death." 

"  Don't  fret  about  the  informer's  report,"  continued 
Alexis,  "  I'll  put  in  a  word  where  it  is  necessary,  rest  assured 
you  shall  be  exempt  from  it  all.  Now  go — or  no,  wait,  give 
me  your  handkerchief." 

Dokoukin  handed  him  a  dark  blue  chequered  handker- 
chief, faded,  full  of  holes,  as  miserable  looking  as  the  owner. 
Alexis  opened  a  drawer  in  his  small  walnut  wood  desk,  which 
stood  next  to  the  table,  took  from  it  without  counting  about 
twenty  roubles  in  silver  and  copper — a  whole  treasure  for 
the  destitute  Dokoukin — wrapped  the  money  in  the  hand- 
kerchief, and  gave  it  back  with  a  kindly  smile. 

"  Take  this  for  thy  journey.  On  thy  return  to  Moscow 
order  a  mass  at  the  Archangel  Cathedral,  and  have  God's 
servant  Alexis  remembered.  Only  be  careful  and  don't  let 
it  be  known  who  this  Alexis  is  !  " 

The  old  man  took  the  money,  yet  neither  thanked  him 
nor  stirred.  He  stood  as  before,  with  his  head  hung  down. 
At  last  he  lifted  his  eyes,  and  began  in  a  solemn  voice  a 
speech  which  he  had  probably  prepared  beforehand  : — 
/  "  As  of  old  God  quenched  Samson's  thirst  by  means  of  an 
ass's  jawbone,  so  to-day  has  not  the  same  God  used  my  igno- 
rance as  a  means  to  convey  something  useful  and  refreshing 
to  you  ?  " 

But  he  suddenly  broke  down,  his  voice  gave  way,  his 
solemn  speech  stopped  short,  his  lips  trembled,  he  staggered 
and  fell  at  Alexis'  feet. 

"  Have  mercy,  our  Father,  listen  to  us,  poor,  groaning, 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  15 

and  lowliest  of  slaves  !  Work  zealously  for  the  Christian 
faith  ;  build  up,  control,  give  to  the  Church  peace  and  unity 
of  spirit.  Tsarevitch  !  Fair  child  of  the  Church,  our  sun 
and  Russia's  hope  !  the  world  is  waiting  to  be  enlightened 
by  thee.  The  scattered  sons  of  God  rejoice  in  thee.  Who 
but  thou  can  succour  us  ?  We  all  are  lost  without  thee,  our 
beloved  !  have  mercy  !  " 

The  old  man  knelt  before  Alexis,  embracing  his  knees, 
weeping,  and  covering  his  feet  with  kisses.  The  Tsare- 
vitch Ustened,  and  this  desperate  prayer  seemed  to  gather 
into  itself  and  give  expression  to  the  wrongs  of  all  those  who 
were  perishing,  outraged,  and  goaded  to  despair,  a  cry  from 
the  whole  people  for  help. 

"  Enough,  enough,  old  man,"  he  said,  stooping  and  trying 
to  lift  him,  "  Am  I  then  blind  and  deaf  ?  Does  not  my 
heart  ache  for  you  ?  The  sorrow  is  common  to  us.  I  feel 
the  same  as  you  do.  Should  God  once  grant  me  to  rule  over 
this  country,  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  ease  the  people's  lot.  Nei- 
ther will  I  then  forget  you  ;  I  need  faithful  servants.  And 
meanwhile  bear  patiently,  and  pray  God  to  speed  the  fulfil- 
ment, for  His  holy  will  worketh  in  all  things." 

He  helped  him  up.  The  old  man  looked  very  weak  and 
pitiful ;  but  his  eyes  glowed  with  such  joy,  as  though  he 
already  beheld  the  salvation  of  Russia.  Alexis  embraced, 
and  kissed  him  on  his  forehead.  "  Good-bye,  Dokoukin,  we 
shall  meet  some  day,  God  willing.    The  Lord  be  with  thee  !  " 


When  Dokoukin  left,  the  Tsarevitch  returned  to  his 
leather  armchair — which  was  old  and  well-worn,  with  the 
hair  stuffing  peering  through  the^holes,  yet  remarkably  soft 
and  comifortable,  and  there  he  sank  into  a  kind  of  doze  or 
torpor. 

Alexis  was  twenty-five  years  old,  tall,  slim,  narrow  across 
the  shoulders  and  in  the  chest  ;  his  face,  too,  was  thin  and 
strangely  long,  as  if  drawn  out  and  pointed  at  the  chin  ;  it 
looked  old,  sickly,  and  sallow,  like  the  fac?  of  people  who 
suffer  from  kidney  disease  ;  his  mouth  was  very  small,  pitiful 
and  childlike  ;  long  tufts  of  straight  black  hair  surrounded 
his  large  open  arched  brow.  Such  faces  are  common  among 
monastic  novices,  country  deacons,  and  choristers.     Yet 


i6  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

when  he  smiled  his  eyes  would  light  up  with  intelligence 
and  kindliness  ;  his  face  would  suddenly  become  young  and 
handsome  and  shine  as  with  some  soft  inner  light.  At  such 
moments  he  resembled  his  grandfather,  the  gentle  Tsar 
Alexis. 

As  he  was  now,  wrapped  in  a  dirty  dressing  gown,  worn- 
out  slippc's  on  his  bare  feet,  sleepy,  unshaven,  his  hair 
unkempt,  he  little  looked  hke  Tsar  Peter's  son.  Last  night's 
drinking  bout  had  given  him  a  severe  headache  ;  the  best 
part  of  the  day  had  gone  while  he  slept  it  off ;  it  was  well 
on  towards  evening  when  he  got  up.  His  disarranged 
couch,  with  its  large  crumpled  feather  bed  and  sheets,  could 
be  seen  through  the  open  door  in  the  next  room. 

Upon  the  writing  table  there  lay  scattered  before  him 
sundry  rusty  mathematical  instruments,  covered  with  dust ; 
a  broken  antique  censer  filled  with  frankincense,  a  tobacco 
grater,  meerschaum  pipes,  an  empty  hair-powder  box,  now 
used  as  an  ash  tray,  piles  of  paper  and  books,  all  in  a  muddle ; 
notes  on  Baronius'  "  Universal  Chroni  le,"  in  Alexis'  own 
handwriting,  were  covered  up  by  a  heap  of  packet  tobacco  ; 
a  half  eaten  cucumber  was  lying  on  the  open  page  of  a  tat- 
tered book,  whose  title  ran  :  "  Geometry  or  Earth — mea- 
surement by  root  and  compass,  for  the  instruction  of  know- 
ledge-loving painstakers  "  ;  a  well  picked  bone  was  left  on  a 
pewter  plate,  and  close  by  a  sticky  liqueur  glass  with  a  fly 
buzzing  in  it.  Innumerable  flics  were  crawling  and  buzzing 
in  black  swarms  over  the  walls,  hung  with  torn,  dirty  grass- 
green  oilcloth,  over  the  smoked  ceiling,  and  the  dim  panes  of 
the  double.windows,  which  had  been  left  in  regardless  of  the 
hot  June  weather. 

Flies  were  buzzing  all  around  him,  and  dro^ysy  thoughts 
swarmed  like  flies  in  his  mind.  He  remembered  the  fight 
which  had  ended  last  night's  drinking  bout  ;  Jibanda 
struck  Sleepyhead,  Sleepyhead  Lasher,  and  then  Father  Hell. 
Starling  and  Moloch  had  rolled  under  the  table.  These  were 
nicknames  which  Alexis  had  given  to  his  boon  companions, 
"  for  his  private  diversion."  Alexis  also  remembered  beat- 
ing and  pulling  somebod3''s  hair,  but  who  this  somebody 
was,  he  could  not  recall.  Last  night  it  had  amused  him,  to- 
day he  felt  ashamed  and  miserable  over  it. 

His  head  was  again  beginning  to  ache.     He  longed  for 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  17 

another  glass  to  cure  this  drunken  headache  ;  but  he  was  too 
lazy  to  go  and  get  one,  too  lazy  even  to  call  out  to  his 
servants.  Yet  the  next  moment  he  would  be  obliged  to 
dress,  pull  on  his  tight-fitting  uniform,  buckle  his  sword,  put 
on  the  heavy  wig,  which  would  only  intensify  his  headache, 
and  present  himself  at  the  Summer  Garden  for  a  masque 
where  all  were  ordered  to  appear,  under  threat  of  terrible 
punishment  for  the  defaulter. 

He  heard  the  voices  of  children  skipping  and  playing  in 
the  courtyard.  A  sickly  ruffled  green-finch  twittered  plain- 
tively from  time  to  time  in  his  cage  over  the  window.  The 
pendulum  of  a  tall  upright  English  striking  clock,  an  old 
present  from  his  father,  was  ticking  monotonously.  Seem- 
ingly interminable,  melancholy  runs  of  scales  reached  his 
ears  from  the  apartment  overhead.  It  was  his  wife  the 
_Crown  Princess  Charlotte,  who  was  playing  on  a  tinkling 
old  German  spinet.  All  at  once  he  remembered  how  last 
night,  when  drunk,  he  had  railed  about  her  to  Jibanda  and 
Lasher  :  "  I  am  encumbered  with  a  devil  of  a  wife.  Come 
when  I  will  to  her,  she  is  always  bad  tempered,  and  will  not 
speak  to  me.  Such  a  mighty  personage  !  "  "  This  won't 
do,"  he  thought  now,  "  I  talk  too  much  when  I  am  drunk, 
and  afterwards  I  am  sorry  for  it."  Was  it  her  fault  that, 
when  but  a  child,  she  was  forced  to  marry  him,  and  by  what 
right  did  he  mock  her  ?  Sick;  lonely,  abandoned  by  all,  in 
a  foreign  land,  she  was  as  unhappy  as  himself.  Yet  she 
loved  him,  perhaps  she  was  the  only  one  who  did  love  him. 
He  remembered  their  recent  quarrel ;  how  she  had  called  out : 
"  The  lowest  cobbler  in  German^/  treats  his  wife  better  than 
you  do  !  "  He  had  angrily  shrugged  his  shoulders  : — 
"  Go  back  to  Germany  then,  God  speed  you  !  "    "  Yes,  I 

would,  if  I  were  not "    She  had  not  continued,  but  had 

burst  into  tears  pointing  to  herself :  she  was  with  child. 
How  well  he  remembered  those  pale  blue  eyes,  swollen  with 
tears  trickling  down  her  cheeks,  washing  off  the  powder 
she,  poor  girl,  had  specially  put  on  for  him.  Her  usually 
plain  features  had  become  haggard  and  plainer  yet  during 
pregnancy  :  a  pathetic,  helpless  face.  And  yet  he  himself 
loved  her,  or  at  any  rate  he  pitied  her,  at  times  with  some 
strange,  hopeless,  desperate,  poignant,  well  nigh  overwhelm- 
ing feeling  of  pity.     Why  then  did  he  torture  her  ?    Was  he 

6 


i8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

bereft  of  all  sense  of  sin  and  shame  ?  He  would  have  to 
answer  for  her  before  God. 

The  flies  seemed  quite  to  distract  him.  A  hot  slanting 
ray  of  the  red  setting  sun,  coming  through  the  window,  just 
caught  his  eyes. 

At  last  he  altered  the  position  of  his  arm-chair,  turned  his 
back  to  the  window,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  stove.  It  was 
a  huge  stove,  built  of  Russian  glazed  tiles  imitated  from  the 
Dutch,  clamped  together  at  the  corners  with  brass.  It 
was  decorated  with  carved  pillars,  flowered  recesses,  and 
sockets.  Various  curious  animals,  birds,  human  beings, 
and  plants  were  represented  on  a  white  ground  in  thick  red, 
green,  and  dark  violet  colours  ;  under  each  design  there  was 
an  inscription  in  Slavonic  characters.  The  colours  glowed 
with  unusual  brightness  in  the  glare  of  the  setting  sun,  and 
for  the  hundredth  time  Alexis  looked  at  these  designs  with 
drowsy  curiosity  and  read  over  the  inscriptions  :  under  a  man 
with  a  musical  instrument  he  legend  :  "  I  make  melody ;  " 
under  a  man  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  with  a  book,  "  Improv- 
ing the  mind  ;  "  under  a  full  blown  tulip  the  words  : 
"  My  scent  is  sweet ;  "  under  an  old  man  kneeling  before  a 
beauty  the  words  :  "  No  love  for  an  old  man  !  "  under  a 
couple  sitting  under  a  tree  the  words  :  "  Taking  good  coun- 
sel together  :  "  a  birch  elf,  French  comedians,  a  Japanese 
priest,  the  goddess  Diana  and  the  legendary  bird  Malko- 
thea. 

Meanwhile  the  flies  go  on  buzzing ;  the  pendulum 
ticks ;  the  green-finch  pipes  in  a  melancholy  tone  ;  the 
sound  of  scales  from  above,  the  voices  of  children  rise  from 
the  court  below.  The  sharp  red  ray  of  sunlight  grows  duller 
and  fainter,  the  coloured  figures  assume  life,  the  French 
comedians  play  leap-frog  with  the  birch  elf.  and  the  Japan- 
ese priest  winks  at  the  bird  Malkothea. 

Everything  begins  to  lose  precision ;  his  eyelids  grow 
heavy,  and  but  for  the  large  sticky  black  fly,  no  longer  buzz- 
ing in  the  glass,  but  in  his  head,  all  would  be  so  quiet,  so 
peaceful,  in  this  dark  red  gloom. 

Suddenly  a  shudder  went  through  him ;  he  started  up. 
"  Have  mercy  upon  us  !  "  The  words  seemed  to  thunder 
within  him  with  violent  force.  He  cast  a  look  round  his 
untidy  room,  and  at  himself,  and  his  cheeks,  bathed  a  mo- 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  19 

ment  since  in  the  red  blaze  of  the  setting  sun,  were  now 
glowing  with  shame.  A  goodly  Hope  of  Russia  indeed  ! 
Brandy,  sleep,  indolence,  hes,  filth,  and  a  ceaseless  craven 
fear  of  his  father. 

Was  it  really  too  late  ?  Was  this  really  to  be  the  end  ? 
Could  he  but  shake  himself  free,  and  run  away  !  "  Suffer 
for  Christ's  sake,"  again  Dokoukin's  words  came  to  his 
mind, — "  God  willed  man  to  be  master  of  himself."  Yes,  he 
would  join  them  ere  it  is  too  late.  They,  the  Secret  Mai- 
tyrs,  are  calling  and  waiting  for  him. 

He  started  up  as  if  really  intending  to  act  upon  his  im- 
pulse— to  do  something  irrevocable  ;  as  he  stood  there, 
indecisive,  his  heart  sank  with  foreboding. 

The  slow  melodious  brass  chime  of  the  clock  rang  out 
through  the  stillness.  It  struck  nine.  When  the  last  stroke 
had  died  away,  the  door  was  gently  pushed  open,  and 
a  head  peered  into  the  room  ;  it  was  his  valet,  the  aged 
Ivan  Afanassieff. 

"  It  is  time  to  be  going.  Would  you  not  like  to  get 
ready  ?  "  He  muttered  it  in  his  usual  grumpy  voice,  as  if 
he  were  chiding  Alexis. 

"  No  thank  you,  I  am  not  going,"  said  Alexis. 

"  As  you  please.  The  order  was  for  everyone  to  be 
present ;  your  father  will  again  be  wrathful." 

"  Go,  go."  Alexis  was  going  to  turn  him  out  of  the  room, 
when  looking  at  this  nilfied,  unkempt,  unshaven,  unwashed, 
sleepy  face,  he  suddenly  remembered,  that  it  was  this  man 
he  had  pulled  by  the  hair  on  the  previous  night. 

Alexis  fixed  on  him  a  long  perplexed  gaze,  as  if  he  had  only 
a'  this  moment  fully  awakened. 

From  the  window  the  last  ray  of  sunlight  had  died  away ; 
immediately  the  room  lost  all  its  brightness,  and  grew 
dreary  ;  it  seemed  as  if  some  monstrous  grey  cobweb,  which 
up  to  that  moment  had  been  lurking  in  the  dirty  ceiling,  was 
now  gradually  descending,  filling  the  space  with  a  dense  net 
of  dinginess. 

The  head  continued  to  peer  through  the  door,  as  if  it  had 
stuck  there,  moving  neither  to  nor  fro. 

"  Have  you  at  last  decided  whether  you  will  dress  or 
not  ?  "  repeated  Ivan  in  a  yet  gruffer  voice. 

Alexis  waved  his  hand  in  utter  helplessness. 


20  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  I  will,  it's  all  the  same  !  "  and  seeing  the  head  did  not 
disappear,  but  apparently  awaited  further  orders,  he  added  : 

"  Just  another  glass  of  orange  liqueur.  My  head  is  split- 
ting from  last  night's  drinking  bout " 

The  old  man  said  nothing,  yet  his  look  plainly  intimated, 
"It  is  not  your  head  which  ought  to  be  aching  after  last 
night." 

Left  to  himself,  the  Tsarevitch  clasped  his  fingers, 
stretched  out  his  arms  till  all  the  joints  cracked,  and  yawned. 
Shame,  fear,  sorrow,  repentance,  thirst  for  immediate 
heroism,  all  dissolved  in  this  slow,  hopeless  yawn,  which 
neither  pain  nor  contortions  could  repress,  which  was  more 
awful  than  any  sob  or  groan. 

***** 

In  an  hour's  time,  washed  and  shaved,  with  hardly  any 
trace  of  drink  about  him,  dressed  in  a  tightly-fitting  officer's 
uniform  of  the  Preobrazhensky  Regiment,  of  green  cloth 
with  red  facings  and  golden  galoon,  he  was  wending  his 
way  to  the  Summer  Palace  along  the  Neva  in  a  six-oared 
boat. 


CHAPTER    II 

IT  was  the  twenty-sixth  of  June,  1715  ;  a  festival  in 
honour  of  Venus  had  been  arranged  for  that  day  in 
the  Summer  Garden.  Her  statue,  newly  arrived  from 
Rome,  was  to  be  placed  in  the  pavilion  overlooking  the 
Neva. 

"  I  will  have  a  braver  garden  than  the  French  King  at 
Versailles,"  boasted  Peter.  When  away  on  campaigns,  at 
sea  or  in  foreign  lands,  the  Tsaritza  used  to  supply  him 
with  news  about  his  favourite  nursling  :  "  Our  garden  has 
come  on  beautifully,  better  than  last  year.  The  avenue 
leading  from  the  palace  is  almost  entirely  overshadowed 
with  maple  and  oak  trees.  Whenever  I  go  out,  I  am  grieved 
not  to  have  you,  my  heart's  joy,  with  me.  Our  garden  is 
gradually  becoming  green,  there  is  already  a  strong  smell 
of  resin  in  the  air," — she  was  referring  to  the  scent  of  the 
trees  just  bursting  into  leaf. 

The  Summer  Garden,  in  fact,  was  laid  out  on  the  same 
plan  as  the  renowned  park  at  Versailles,  with  smoothly 
shorn  trees,  flower  beds  in  geometrical  figures,  straight 
canals,  square  lakes,  swans,  islets,  bowers,  ingenious 
water-sprays,  endless  avenues,  prospects,  high  leafy  hedges, 
and  espaliers  which  resembled  the  walls  of  some  grand 
reception  hall.  Here  people  were  encouraged  to  walk 
about,  and  when  tired  to  seek  rest  and  seclusion,  for 
which  a  goodly  number  of  benches,  pavilions,  labyrinths 
and  green  lawns  were  provided. 

Yet,  nevertheless,  the  Tsar's  garden  was  far  inferior  to 

the  gardens  at  Versailles. 

The  pale  northern  sun  drew  but  puny  tulips  from  the 

21  - 


22  PETER   AND   ALEXIS 

fat  Rotterdam  bulbs.  Only  the  humbler  boreal  flowers 
grew  freely,  such  as,  for  instance,  Peter's  favourite,  the 
scented  tansy,  double  peonies,  and  melancholy  bright 
dahlias.  Young  trees,  brought  here  with  incredible  trouble 
by  sea  and  by  land  even  a  distance  of  i,ooo  miles — from 
Prussia,  Poland,  Pomerania,  Denmark,  and  Holland — were 
also  far  from  flourishing  ;  the  foreign  soil  nourished  their 
roots  but  scantily.  On  the  other  hand,  as  at  Versailles, 
all  along  the  main  alleys  marble  busts  and  statues  were 
placed.  Roman  emperors,  Greek  philosophers,  Olympian 
gods  and  goddesses  seemed  to  look  at  one  another  in 
amazement,  unable  to  understand  how  they  got  into  this 
wild  country  of  the  "  Hyperborean  Barbarians."  These 
statues,  however,  were  not  the  antique  originals,  but 
feeble  imitations  by  second-rate  Italian  and  German 
masters.  The  gods  appeared  to  have  only  just  taken  off 
their  wigs  and  embroidered  coats,  the  goddesses  their 
lace-trappings  and  robes  ;  they  seemed  to  wonder  at  their 
scarcely  decent  nakedness,  and  resembled  affected  cavaliers 
and  dames  who  had  been  taught  the  delicacies  of  French 
politeness  at  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.  and  the  Duke  of 
Orleans. 

Alexis  was  walking  along  one  of  the  side  alleys,  which 
led  from  the  large  lake  in  the  direction  of  the  Neva.  He 
was  accompanied  by  a  funny,  hobbling,  bow-legged  crea- 
ture, who  wore  a  shabby  foreign-cut  coat,  a  huge  wig  and 
a  flurried  confused  expression,  like  some  one  suddenly 
aroused  from  his  sleep.  He  was  the  head  of  the  Armoury 
department  and  of  the  new  Printing  Works,  the  first 
master-printer  in  Petersburg — Michael  Avramoff. 

The  son  of  a  deacon,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  Avramoff 
had  been  taken  straight  from  the  Breviary  and  Psalms  to 
a  trading  vessel  at  Kronslot ;  the  vessel  was  bound  for 
Amsterdam  with  a  cargo  of  tar,  skins,  leather,  and  a 
dozen  "  Russian  youths,"  who  had  been  selected  by  Peter's 
command  from  "  sharp  youngsters,"  for  instruction  abroad. 
After  some  study  of  geometry  and  more  at  classic  mytho- 
logy, Avramoff  had  received  commendations  and  a  diploma 
from  his  teachers.  Not  stupid  by  nature,  he  seemed 
to  have  been  stunned  and  baffled  by  a  too  sudden  transi- 
tion from  the  Psalms  and  Breviary  to  the  Fables  of  Ovid 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  23 

and  Virgil,  and  never  to  have  recovered.  His  mind  had 
undergone  something  Hke  a  fit  of  convulsions  to  which 
little  children  aresubject,  when  suddenly  startled  from  their 
sleep,  and  ever  since  his  face  had  retained  that  expression 
of  stupefaction. 

"  Tsarevitch,  I  confess  to  you,  as  before  God,"  spoke 
Avramoff  in  a  monotonous  whining  tone,  like  the  buzzing 
of  a  gnat,  "  my  conscience  is  uneasy,  in  that  being  Chris- 
tians we  yet  worship  idols." 

"  What  idols  ?  "  asked  the  Tsarevitch  in  amazement. 

Avramoff  pointed  to  the  marble  statues  along  both  sides 
of  the  alley. 

"  Our  fathers  and  forefathers  placed  holy  icons  in  their 
houses  and  along  the  roads,  but  we  are  ashamed  to  do  like- 
wise, and  set  up  shameless  idols  instead.  When  God's 
images  have  God's  power  in  them,  the  devil's  images  in  like 
manner  will  surely  hold  the  devil's  power.  In  the  Most 
Foolish  Conclave  with  the  Kniaz-pope  we  have  been  serving 
the  drunken  god  Bacchus  ;  and  now,  to-day,  we  are  prepar- 
ing to  worship  that  dissolute  and  obscene  goddess  Venus. 
These  ceremonies  are  termed  masquerades  and  are  not 
accounted  to  us  for  sin  ;  for,  they  say,  these  gods  have  never 
existed,  and  their  lifeless  statues  are  placed  in  house  and 
garden  solely  for  the  sake  of  ornament.  But  that  is  where 
folk  fatally  err ;  because  these  ancient  gods  do  really  and 
verily  exist." 

"  You  believe  in  their  existence  ?  "  Alexis'  surprise  in- 
creased. 

"  Your  royal  Highness,  according  to  the  witness  of  holy 
men,  I  believe  that  the  gods  are  evil  spirits,  who,  being  cast 
out  of  their  temples  in  the  name  of  the  Crucified,  sought 
refuge  in  dark  and  desert  places,  there  pretending  to  be  dead 
and  non-existent  till  their  hour  should  come.  But  when 
ancient  Christianity  grew  feeble  and  a  new  infamy  had 
sprung  up,  then  these  gods  began  to  regain  life,  and  leave 
their  hiding  places  ;  just  as  various  worthless  creeping 
things,  scarabees  and  such  like  poisonous  vermin,  emerging 
from  their  eggs  sting  people,  so  the  evil  spirits  emerging 
from  their  larvae,  these  ancient  idols,  sting  and  ruin  Chris- 
tian souls.  Do  you  remember  Father  Isaac's  vision, 
recorded  in  the  Holy  Fathers  ?     How  beautiful  young  men 


24  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

and  maidens  with  faces  bright  as  the  sun,  catching  hold  of 
the  saint's  hands,  whirled  him  away  in  a  mad  dance  to 
the  strains  of  sweet  music,  and  how  when  they  had  tired 
and  dishonoured  him  they  left  him  almost  dead,  and  dis- 
appeared ?  Then  the  Holy  Father  knew  that  he  had  been 
visited  by  the  ancient  Greek  and  Roman  gods,  Jove, 
Mercury,  Apollo,  Venus  and  Bacchus.  Now  the  evil  ones 
appear  unto  us  sinners  to-day,  but  in  disguise,  so  to  speak. 
And  we  welcome  them,  and  mingling  with  them  in  obscene 
masquerades,  we  prance  and  dance,  till  in  the  end,  we  shall 
all  rush  headlong  into  some  deep  Tartarus,  or,  like  a  herd 
of  swine,  into  the  sea  ;  ignorant  fools,  not  to  realize  that 
these  beautiful,  new,  radiant,  white  devils  are  far  more 
dangerous  than  the  most  churlish  and  blackest  Ethiopian 
monstrosities  !  " 

It  was  almost  dark  in  the  garden,  though  it  was  but  the 
middle  of  June.  Low,  black,  oppressive  storm-clouds 
crept  over  the  sky.  Neither  the  fireworks  nor  the  festival 
had  as  yet  been  started.  The  air  was  as  still  as  in  a  room. 
Distant  heat  lightnings  lit  up  the  horizon,  and  each  flash 
revealed  marble  statues  of  almost  painfully  dazzling  white- 
ness among  the  green  espaliers  on  both  sides  of  the  alley 
— it  seemed  as  though  white  phantoms  were  flitting  along 
the  glades. 

After  all  Avramoff  had  been  telling  him  the  Tsarevitch 
looked  at  them  with  a  new  feeling.  "  Really,"  he  thought, 
"  they  are  just  hke  white  devils." 

Voices  became  audible.  B}'  the  sound  of  one  of  them, 
not  loud  but  slightly  husky,  and  also  by  the  red  glowing 
spot,  which  to  all  appearance  came  from  the  Dutch  clay 
pipe,  and  disclosed  the  gigantic  stature  of  the  smoker, 
Alexis  recognised  his  father.  He  swiftly  turned  the  corner 
of  the  alley  into  a  side  path  leading  to  a  maze  of  lilac  and 
box  shrubs.  "  Like  a  hare,"  he  angrily  termed  his  action, 
which  though  almost  instinctive  was  nevertheless  cowardice. 

"  What  in  the  devil,  Avramoff,  are  you  always  talking 
about  ?  "  he  continued,  feigning  annoyance  in  order  to 
cover  his  shame.  "  Excess  of  reading  seems  to  have 
muddled  your  brain." 

"  I  speak  the  pure  truth,  your  royal  Highness,"  retorted 
Avramoff,  not  in  the  least  hurt,  "  I  have  myself  experi- 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  25 

enced  the  power  of  those  evil  spirits  ;  it  was  Satan  who 
enticed  me  when  I  asked  your  father,  the  Tsar,  to  let  me 
print  Ovid  and  Virgil.  I  have  already  issued  one  book 
with  drawings  of  the  gods  and  their  mad  doings,  and  ever 
since  I  seem  to  have  been  beside  myself,  and  subject  to 
insatiable  lechery.  The  Lord  has  forsaken  me,  and  all 
sorts  of  strange  gods,  especially  Bacchus  and  Venus,  have 
begun  to  haunt  my  dreams." 

"  In  what  guise  ?  "  asked  Alexis,  his  curiosity  now 
aroused. 

"  Bacchus  appeared  to  me  in  the  shape  of  Martin  Luther 
the  heretic,  just  as  you  see  him  in  paintings,  a  red-faced 
German  with  a  belly  as  round  as  a  beer  barrel.  Then 
Venus  took  the  form  of  a  girl  whom  I  had  known  during 
my  stay  in  Amsterdam  :  a  nude  body,  white  as  foam, 
scarlet  lips  and  impudent  eyes.  And  when  I  awoke  in 
the  bath-house,  for  this  devil's  work  happened  there,  the  sly 
witch  had  changed  to  the  priest's  serf  girl,  Akoulina,  who 
reviling  me  for  hindering  her  having  a  bath,  impudently 
struck  me  across  the  face  with  a  bunch  of  wet  birch  twigs, 
and  jumping  into  a  snow  drift  in  the  yard — it  happened 
in  winter — she  melted  away  in  thin  air." 

"  But  this  might  very  possibly  have  really  been  Akoulina," 
laughed  the  Tsarevitch. 

Avramoff  was  going  to  retort  but  stopped  short.  Again 
voices  became  audible.  Again  a  blood-red  spot  glimmered 
in  the  darkness.  The  narrow  path  of  the  dark  maze  had 
again  brought  father  and  son  together  in  a  place  too  narrow 
to  avoid  one  another.  Again  the  desperate  thought 
flashed  across  Alexis'  mind  to  hide  himself  somewhere,  to 
slip  through,  or  again  dart  as  a  hare  into  the  low  wood. 
But  it  was  too  late  ;  Peter  had  already  caught  sight  of  him 
from  a  distance,  and  called  out  : 

"  Zoon ! " 

The  Dutch  "  Zoon  "  signifies  son  ;  he  called  him  thus  only 
in  rare  moments  of  graciousness.  Alexis  was  all  the  more 
surprised,! as  of  late  his  father  had  quite  given  up  talking 
to  him  either  in  Dutch  or  Rus  ian^ 

He  advanced  towards  his  father,  took  his  hat  off,  made 
a  low  bow,  and  kissed  first  the  lappet  of  his  coat,  then  the 
hard  horny  hand.     Peter  was  attired  in  a  well  worn  com- 


26  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

mander's  uniform  of  the  Preobrazhensky  Regiment.  It  was 
of  dark  green  cloth  with  red  facings  and  brass  buttons. 

"  Thank  you,  Ahosha,"  said  Peter,  and  Alexis'  heart 
thrilled  at  this  long  unheard  "  Aliosha."  "Thank  you  for 
the  present  you  sent  me.  It  came  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 
My  own  supj^ly  of  oak,  which  was  being  floated  down  on 
a  raft  from  Kazan,  perished  in  a  storm  on  the  Ladoga. 
But  for  your  present,  we  should  scarcely  have  finished  our 
new  frigate  before  the  autumn  ;  the  wood  was  of  the  best 
and  strongest,  like  yours — true  iron.  It  is  long  since  I 
have  seen  such  exceptionally  good  oak  !  " 

The  Tsarevitch  knew  that  nothing  pleased  his  father 
more  than  good  timber  for  ship-building.  On  his  own 
estate  in  the  Porietzky  district  of  the  Novgorod  govern- 
ment, Alexis  had  for  some  time  secretly  reserved  a  fine 
plantation  of  oak  for  the  day  w'hen  he  should  be  in  special 
need  of  his  father's  favour.  When  he  learnt  that  they 
would  soon  be  wanting  oak  in  the  dockyard,  Alexis  had 
the  timber  felled  and  floated  on  a  raft  down  the  Neva  just 
in  time  to  supply  his  father.  It  was  one  of  those  timid, 
awkward  services,  which  he  had  rendered  frequently  at  one 
time,  but  of  late  more  and  more  rarely.  However,  he  did 
not  deceive  himself ;  he  knew  it  would  soon  be  forgotten, 
like  all  his  previous  services,  while  increased  severity  would 
follow  this  momentary  tenderness. 

Nevertheless  a  bashful  joy  flushed  his  face  ;  his  heart 
throbbed  with  mad  hope.  He  muttered  something  in  a 
low,  halting  tone,  about  "  always  glad  to  give  my  father 
pleasure,"  and  stooped  again  to  kiss  his  hand.  But  Peter 
raised  his  head  with  both  his  hands.  For  one  instant 
Alexis  saw  the  familiar  face,  so  terrible  yet  so  dear  to  him, 
with  its  full  round  cheeks,  the  curly  moustache,  and  the 
charming  smile  which  flitted  across  the  curved,  ahnost 
femininely  tender  lips,  he  saw  the  large,  dark,  lucid  eyes, 
which  so  fascinated  him  that  he  used  to  dream  about  them, 
as  a  love-sick  youth  would  dream  about  the  eyes  of  a  beauti- 
ful woman.  He  recognized  the  odour  familiar  from  his 
childhood  :  a  mixture  of  strong  tobacco,  brandy,  sweat, 
and  something  else,  not  disagreeable,  a  smell  of  soldiers' 
barracks,  which  usually  filled  his  father's  working  room, 
"  the  office."     He  felt  the  touch,  familiar  also  to  him  from 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  27 

his  earliest  years,  of  the  hard,  sHghtly  bristly  chin  with  the 
dimple  in  the  centre,  which  seemed  strangely  out  of  place 
on  this  formidable  face.  He  remembered,  or  was  it  only  a 
dream,  kissing  this  odd  dimple,  saying  with  delight  : 
"  It  is  just  hke  Granny's,"  when  as  a  child  his  father  used 
to  take  him  on  his  knees. 

Peter,  kissing  his  son  on  the  forehead,  said  in  his  broken 
Dutch  speech  : 

"  Good  beware  u  ! 

This  slightly  stiff  Dutch  "  you  "  in  place  of  "  thou  " 
sounded  to  Alexis  charmingly  amiable. 

He  seemed  to  have  felt  and  seen  all  this  in  a  flash  of 
lightning.  The  lightning  faded  away  and  all  disappeared. 
Peter  had  already  passed  a  good  way  on,  his  head  thrown 
back  as  was  his  wont,  slightly  twitching  his  shoulder,  waving 
his  right  hand  in  a  soldierly  manner,  walking  at  his  usual 
rapid  pace,  which  was  so  quick  that  those  who  accompanied 
him  were  obliged  to  keep  up  by  running. 

Alexis  went  in  the  opposite  direction  following  the  same 
narrow  path  of  the  dark  maze.  Avramoff  kept  close  be- 
hind ;  he  again  began  talking,  but  now  about  the  Archi- 
mandrite of  the  Alexander  Monastery,  the  Tsar's  chaplain 
Theodosius  Janovsky,  whom  Peter  had  appointed  "  Admin- 
istrator of  Religious  Affairs,"  and  had  thus  raised  above  the 
first  prelate,  the  aged  occupant  of  the  Patriarchal  throne, 
— Stephen  Javorsky.  Theodosius  was  suspected  of  lean- 
ings towards  Lutheranism,  of  secretly  plotting  to  abolish 
the  worship  of  icons,  relics,  the  keeping  of  fasts,  monasteries, 
the  Patriarchate  and  other  ancient  statutes  and  customs  of 
the  Orthodox  Church.  Others  surmised  that  Theodosius 
was  dreaming  of  himself  becoming  Patriarch. 

"  This  Theodosius  is  a  veritable  atheist  and  a  most 
insolent  pagan,"  Avramoff  continued.  "  He  has  wormed 
his  way  into  the  hard  -  worked  monarch's  holy  con- 
fidence and  enthralled  him.  He  boldly  destroys  Chris- 
tian laws  and  traditions,  and  introduces  an  ambitious, 
luxurious,  epicurean,  almost  swinish  way  of  living.  He, 
this  mad  heresiarch,  tore  the  crown  off  the  wonder- 
working Kazan  icon  of  the  Virgin  ;  '  Sexton,  a  knife  ! '  he 
cried,  cut  the  wire,  tore  off  the  embossed  golden  ornament, 
and  put  the  spoil  in  his  pocket,  barefacedly,  before  the  eyes 


28  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

of  all ;  and  those  who  saw  it  were  amazed  and  bewailed 
such  impudence.  Meanwhile  he,  the  unclean  vessel,  the 
obscene  one,  turned  away  from  God,  made  a  compact  with 
Satan,  and,  mad  goat  that  he  is,  even  wanted  to  spit  and 
trample  on  the  Life-giving  Cross,  the  Saviour's  image !  " 

The  Tsarevitch  gave  no  heed  to  Avramoff's  prattle.  He 
was  musing  over  and  trying  by  arguments  to  choke  this 
unreasonable,  and  as  it  now  seemed,  childish  joy.  What 
was  he  expecting  ?  What  was  he  hoping  for  ?  A  recon- 
ciliation with  his  father  ?  Was  it  possible  ?  Did  he  him- 
self really  wish  for  one  ?  Had  not  something  taken  place, 
which  could  never  be  forgotten  or  forgiven  ?  He  remem- 
bered hiding  himself  in  cowardly  fear  a  moment  ago  ;  he 
remembered  Dokoukin  and  his  "  denunciatory  petition 
against  Peter,"  and  many  other  far  more  terrible,  unanswer- 
able denunciations.  It  was  not  for  his  own  sake  merely 
that  he  had  rebelled  against  his  father.  And  yet,  a  few 
kind  words,  one  smile,  had  sufficed  to  melt  and  soften  his 
heart.  He  is  again  willing  to  fall  at  his  father's  feet,  for- 
get and  forgive  everything  and  himself  implore  for  pardon, 
as  if  he  alone  were  the  guilty  one.  He  is  ready,  for  another 
such  caress,  another  such  smile,  to  surrender  his  soul  to  him 
anew.  "  Is  it  possible,"  he  thought  almost  terrified,  "  that 
I  love  him  so  much  ?  "  Avramoff  continued  talking  like 
a  gnat  humming  in  one's  ear.  The  Tsarevitch  caught 
his  last  words  :  "  When  St.  Mitrofane  of  Voronesh  saw 
Bacchus,  Venus  and  other  gods  standing  on  the  roof  of  the 
Tsar's  palace,  he  said  :  '  I  cannot  enter  the  house  until  the 
Tsar  orders  these  idols,  which  mislead  the  people,  o  be 
taken  down.'  And  the  Tsar,  honouring  the  hoi}'  man,  had 
them  all  removed.  That's  how  it  was  in  the  past ;  but  to- 
day, who  dares  speak  the  truth  to  the  Tsar  ?  Not  Theo- 
dosius  the  unclean  one,  who  turns  icons  into  idols.  Woe 
unto  us  !  It  has  come  to  such  a  pass  that,  this  very  day. 
at  this  very  hour,  the  Virgin's  holy  picture  will  be  replaced 
by  a  devilish,  mischievous  image  of  Venus !  And  the 
monarch  your  father " 

"  Leave  nie  alone,  you  fool,"  the  Tsarevitch  exclaimed 
wrathfully.  "  All  of  you  leave  me  alone  !  What  are  you 
always  at  me  for  ?  Damnation  !  "  and  he  used  some  ribald 
expressions.     "  What  have  I  to  do  with  you  ?     I  neither 


THE  VENUS  OF   PETERSBURG  2g 

know  nor  desire  to  know  anything.  Go  and  complain  to 
my  father  :   he  will  see  to  your  rights — " 

They  were  approaching  the  Skipper's  square  near  the 
fountain  in  the  middle  alley.  A  crowd  had  gathered  there. 
They  soon  attracted  attention  and  many  an  ear  tried  to  catch 
their  conversation.  Avramoff  had  paled,  he  seemed  to  have 
shrunk  and  grown  shorter,  and  eyed  Alexis  with  a  furtive 
look,  the  look  of  a  child  frightened  in  his  sleep,  who  at  any 
moment  might  be  taken  by  a  fit  of  convulsions.  Alexis 
felt  sorry  for  him. 

"  Don't  fear,  Avramoff !  "  he  said  with  a  kind,  bright 
smile,  which  recalled  not  his  father's,  but  the  smile  of  his 
grandfather  Alexis.  "  Never  fear — I  won't  denounce  you, 
I  know  you  love  me — and  my  father.  Only  don't  talk 
such  a  lot  of  trash  again  !  "  And  with  a  sudden  shadow  over- 
casting his  countenance,  he  added  in  a  lower  tone  :  "  Even 
if  you  should  be  right,  what  is  the  good  of  it  ;  who  wants 
truth  nowadays  ?  The  lash  cannot  vie  with  the  axe  ;  no- 
body will  hsten  to  you,  nor  to  me." 

Between  the  trees  flashed  the  first  lights  of  the  illumina- 
tions :  many-coloured  lanterns,  firepots,  pyramids  of 
tallow  candles  placed  in  the  windows  and  between  the  carved 
pillars  of  the  open  roofed  gallery  overlooking  the  Neva. 

Everything  had  been  very  ingeniously  and  plenti- 
fully decorated.  The  gallery  consisted  of  three  long 
narrow  pavilions,  in  the  centre  of  which,  under  a  glass 
dome,  specially  constructed  by  the  Fench  architect 
Leblond,  a  place  of  honour  had  been  prepared — a  marble 
pedestal  for  the  Venus  of  Petersburg. 


CHAPTER    III 

"  T    HAVE   purchased   a    Venus,"   wrote    Beklemisheff 

X  to  Peter  from  Italy.  "  She  is  highly  prized  in 
Rome.  The  statue  differs  in  no  wise  from  the  celebrated 
Florentine  Venus,  and  is  even  in  better  preservation.  She 
was  found  by  some  workmen,  who  discovered  her  when 
digging  the  foundation  for  a  new  house  ;  she  had  been 
over  two  thousand  years  in  the  ground.  She  has  for  a 
long  time  stood  in  the  Papal  Garden.  I  have  had  to  con- 
ceal her  for  fear  of  eager  purchasers.  I  am  as  yet  uncertain 
whether  they  will  let  her  go.  However,  she  already 
belongs  to  your  Majesty," 

Peter  entered  into  communication  with  Clement  XI. 
through  his  plenipotentiary  Savva  Ragousinsky  and  the 
Cardinal  Ottobani,  seeking  permission  to  remove  the 
statue  to  Russia.  For  a  long  time  the  Pope  would  not  agree 
to  this.  The  Tsar  was  even  ready  to  carry  the  Venus  off 
by  stealth.  At  last,  after  many  diplomatic  negotiations 
and  wirepullings,  the  permission  was  obtained. 

"  Captain,"  wrote  Peter  to  Jagoushinski,  "  the  superb 
statue  of  Venus  must  be  taken  from  Leghorn  to  Innsbruck 
by  land,  and  thence  by  water  along  the  Danube  to  Vienna, 
under  the  care  of  a  special  guard.  And  have  her  addressed 
to  yourself  in  Vienna,  As  the  statue  is  of  repute  there 
also,  it  would  be  advisable  to  have  a  carriage  stand  made 
with  springs  on  which  she  may  be  conveyed  to  Cracow,  and 
thus  avoid  all  risk  of  damage,  from  Cracow  she  might  be 
sent  on  by  water." 

Along  seas  and  rivers,  over  hills  and  dales,  through  towns 
and  deserts,  and  finally  across  the  miserable  settlements, 
dark   forests   and   bogs   of   Russia,   everywhere   carefully 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  31 

watched,  by  Peter's  will,  now  rocked  on  the  sea  waves,  now 
on  carriage-springs  in  her  dark  box,  as  in  a  cradle  or  cofhn, 
the  goddess  journeyed  from  the  Eternal  City  to  the  newly- 
born  town  of  Petersburg. 

When  she  had  safely  arrived,  the  Tsar,  much  as  he 
would  have  liked  a  look  at  the  statue,  which  he  had  been 
expecting  for  so  long,  and  about  which  he  had  heard  so 
much,  nevertheless  overcame  his  impatience  and  resolved 
not  to  open  the  box  until  the  first  solemn  appearance  of 
Venus  at  the  festival  in  the  Summer  Garden.  Small  boats, 
wherries-,  canoes,  punts,  and  other  new-fashioned  river- 
craft  came  to  the  wooden  steps  which  led  straight  down 
to  the  water,  and  moored  at  the  iron  rings  of  the  poles 
which  had  been  driven  in  close  to  the  shore.  The  newly 
arrived  guests  came  up  the  steps  to  the  Central  Pavilion  ; 
here,  in  the  flare  of  numerous  lights,  an  ever-increasing 
crowd,  sumptuously  arrayed,  was  moving  to  and  fro.  The 
men  wore  coloured  velvet  and  silk  coats,  three-cornered 
hats,  swords,  stockings  and  buckled  shoes  with  high  heels  ; 
on  their  heads  towered  large  wigs,  arranged  in  magnificent 
but  unnatural  curls — black,  fair,  and  occasionally  powdered. 
The  ladies  wore  large,  wide-hooped  skirts — robes  rondes — 
after  the  latest  Versailles  fashion,  with  long  trains,  beauty 
spots  and  rouge  on  their  faces,  lace,  feathers,  and  pearls  in 
their  hair.  But  in  this  resplendent  throng  there  could 
be  also  seen  military  uniforms  of  plain  coarse  cloth,  even 
the  short  jackets  of  sailors  and  skippers,  and  the  tarry 
boats  and  leather  caps  of  Dutch  mariners. 

The  crowd  separated  to  allow  a  strange  procession  to 
pass.  Strong  Royal  Grenadiers  were  bending  under  the 
weight  of  a  long,  narrow  packing-case,  very  much  like  a 
coffin,  which  they  bore  on  their  shoulders.  Judged  by  the 
size  of  the  coffin,  the  body  was  of  superhuman  height. 
They  placed  the  case  on  the  ground. 

The  Tsar  without  any  help  proceeded  to  open  it,  handling 
the  joiners'  tools  with  great  rapidity  and  skill.  He  was  in 
a  hurry,  and  pulled  at  the  nails  with  such  impatience  that 
he  severely  scratched  one  hand.  The  people  thronged 
round  on  tiptoe,  trying  to  catch  a  glimpse  over  one 
another's  shoulders. 

The  Privy  Councillor,  Peter  Tolstoi,  who  had  lived  for 


32  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

many  j^ears  in  Italy,  a  learned  man  and  a  poet — he  was 
the  first  to  translate  Ovid's  Metamorphoses  into  Russian — 
was  describing  to  the  ladies  around  him,  the  ancient  ruins 
of  the  Venus  temple. 

"  On  my  way  to  Castello-di-Baia,  near  Naples  (the  town 
had  fallen  into  ruins  and  its  site  was  overgrown  with 
wood)  I  saw  a  shrine  dedicated  to  the  goddess  Venus.  The 
temple  was  built  in  first-rate  style,  with  tall  pillars ;  the 
arches  were  decorated  with  representations  of  the  pagan 
gods.  I  also  saw  there  other  shrines  dedicated  to  Diana, 
Mercury,  and  Bacchus.  The  cursed  tormentor  Nero  had 
sacrificed  to  them  in  those  places,  and  he  is  now  atoning 
in  hell  for  his  inordinate  devotions." 

Peter  Tolstoi  opened  his  mother-of-pearl  snuff-box — 
on  its  lid  was  represented  three  lambs,  and  a  sheoherd 
loosening  the  girdle  of  a  sleeping  shepherdess  —  offered 
the  snufi-box  to  the  pretty  Princess  Tsherkassky,  took  a 
pinch  himself,  and  added  with  a  languid  sigh  : 

"  During  my  stay  in  Naples  (I  remember  it  so  well !),  I 
was  inamorato  with  a  certain  cittadina  Francesca,  cele- 
brated for  her  beaut3^  She  cost  me  over  4.000  roubles ;  and 
to  this  day  I  cannot  free  my  heart  from  that  tender  recollec- 
tion." 

He  spoke  Italian  so  well  that  he  liked  interspersing  his 
native  speech  with  Italian  words  :  "  inamorato  "  for  in 
love  ;    "  cittadina  "  for  citizen's  wife,  and  so  on. 

Tolstoi  was  seventy,  yet  did  not  look  more  than  fifty, 
so  strong,  alert  and  fresh  was  he.  The  Tsar  had  often 
expressed  the  opinion  that  Tolstoi's  politeness  towards 
ladies  "could  outdo  that  of  any  younger  devotee  of  Venus." 
A  feline  suppleness  of  gait,  a  low  velvety  voice,  velvety 
amiable  smile,  velvety  eyebrows,  amazingly  thick,  black 
and  possibly  painted  :  "  He  is  all  velvet,  yet  not  without 
spikes,"  people  used  to  say  of  him.  Even  Peter  himself, 
as  a  rule  so  careless  with  regard  to  his  "  eaglets,"  thought 
it  wise  "  to  keep  a  stone  close  at  hand  when  dealing  with 
Tolstoi."  There  was  many  a  dark,  wicked,  and  even 
bloody  stain  on  the  conscience  of  this  polite  worthy,  but  he 
knew  the  secret  of  effacing  all  traces  of  his  misdoings. 

The  last  nails  gave  way,  the  wood  cracked,  the  lid  was 
lifted,  and  the  case  opened.     At  first  something  of  a  greyish 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  33 

yellow  tint  struck  the  eyes,  something  which  suggested  the 
dust  of  putrefied  bones.  These  were  pine  shavings,  chips, 
felt,  and  combings  of  wool  which  had  been  put  there  for 
soft  packing.  Peter  with  both  hands  was  routing  among 
them,  and  when  at  last  he  came  to  the  marble  body,  he 
joyfully  exclaimed  : 

"  Here  she  is  !  " 

The  lead  was  already  being  melted  for  the  soldering  of  the 
iron  tie-rods  which  were  to  fix  the  foot  of  the  statue  to  the 
pedestal.  The  architect  Leblond  busied  himself  in  getting 
ready  a  kind  of  hoist  with  steps,  ropes,  and  pulleys.  But 
the  statue  had  first  to  be  raised  by  hand  out  of  the  case. 

The  servants  were  assisting  Peter.  When  one  of  them 
clasped  "  the  naked  wench "  in  coarse  joke,  the  Tsar 
rewarded  him  with  such  a  ringing  buffet  on  the  ears,  that 
every  one  present  at  once  felt  a  certain  respect  for  the 
goddess. 

Flakes  of  wool  were  falling  off  the  smooth  marble,  like 
grey  clods  of  earth,  while  again,  just  as  two  hundred 
years  ago  in  Florence,  the  risen  goddess  was  emerging  from 
her  tomb. 

The  ropes  tightened,  the  pulleys  squeaked,  she  rose 
higher  and  higher.  Peter  stood  on  a  ladder,  and  fixing  the 
statue  to  the  pedestal,  he  held  her  with  both  anns,  as  in  an 
embrace. 

"  Venus  in  the  embrace  of  Mars  !  "  Leblond,  the  emotional 
lover  of  classics,  could  not  help  ejaculating. 

"  How  beautiful  they  both  are  !  "  exclaimed  a  young 
maid  of  honour  belonging  to  the  Crown  Princess  Charlotte's 
household.     "  Were  I  the  Tsaritza,  I  should  be  jealous." 

Peter  was  almost  as  tall  as  the  statue,  and  his  human 
face  remained  noble  in  the  presence  of  this  divine  one  : 
the  man  was  worthy  of  the  goddess. 

A  last  tremor,  a  last  vibration,  and  she  stood  immovably 
upright  and  firm  on  the  pedestal. 

It  was  the  work  of  Praxiteles :  Aphrodite  Anadyomene, 
the  Foam-born,  and  Urania  the  Heavenly,  the  ancient 
Phoenician  Astarte,  the  Babylonian  Mellita,  the  Mother  of 
Life,  the  great  foster  mother,  she  who  had  scattered  the 
seed  of  stars  over  the  blue  vault,  and  shed  the  Milky-way 
from  her  breast. 


34  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

She  was  the  same  now,  as  on  the  hillside  in  Florence 
where  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  pupil  had  looked  at  her  with 
superstitious  fear  ;  or,  yet  earlier,  when  in  the  depths  of 
Cappadocia,  in  the  forsaken  temple  near  the  old  castle  of 
IMacellum,  her  last  true  worshipper  had  praj^ed  to  her, 
that  pale  boy  in  monk's  attire,  the  future  Emperor 
Julian  the  Apostate.  She  had  remained  the  same  inno- 
cent yet  voluptuous  goddess,  naked  and  not  ashamed. 
From  that  very  day  when  she  rose  from  her  millenial  tomb 
far  away  in  Florence,  she  had  progressed  further  and 
further,  from  age  to  age,  from  people  to  people,  halting 
nowhere,  till  in  her  victorious  march  she  had  at  last  reached 
the  limits  of  the  earth,  the  Hyperborean  Scythia,  beyond 
which  there  remains  nought  but  chaos  and  darkness. 
And  having  fixed  herself  on  the  pedestal  she  for  the  first 
time  glanced  with  a  look  of  surprised  curiosity  around  this 
strange  new  land,  these  flat  moss-covered  bogs,  this  curious 
town,  so  like  the  settlements  of  nomads  ;  at  this  sky,  which 
was  the  same  day  and  night,  these  black,  drowsy,  terrible 
waves  so  like  the  waves  of  the  Styx.  This  land  resem- 
bled but  little  her  radiant  Olympian  home  ;  it  seemed  as 
hopeless  as  the  land  of  Oblivion,  the  dark  Hades.  Yet 
the  goddess  smiled  as  the  sun  would  have  smiled  had  he 
penetrated  into  Hades. 

Peter  Tolstoi,  yielding  to  the  entreaties  of  the  ladies, 
declaimed  some  verses  dedicated  to  Cupid,  taken  from 
Anacreon's  ancient  hymn  to  Eros. 

Cupid  once  upon  a  bed 

Of  roses  laid  his  weary  head  ; 

Luckless  archer,  not  to  see 

Within  the  leaves  a  slumbering  bee  ! 

The  bee  awak'd — with  anger  wild 

The  bee  awak'd,  and  stung  the  child. 

Loud  and  piteous  are  his  cries  ; 

To  Venus  quick  he  runs,  he  flies  ! 

"Oh,  mother! — I  am  wounded  though — 

I  die  with  pain — in  sooth  I  do 

Stung  by  some  little  angry  thing. 

Some  serpent  on  a  tiny  wing — 

A  bee  it  was — for  once  I  know 

I  heard  a  rustic  call  it  so." 

Thus  he  ipoke,  and  she  the  while 

Heard  him  with  a  soothing  smile  ; 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  35 

Then  said,   "  My  infant,  if  so  much 
Thou  feel  the  little  wild  bee's  touch, 
How  must  the  heart,  ah  Cupid  !   be. 
The  hapless  heart  that's  stung  by  thee  !  " 

The  ladies,  who  had  never  heard  any  poetry  except  sacred 
chants  and  psalms,  were  charmed. 

It  came  very  appropriately,  for  the  next  moment  Peter 
himself,  as  the  signal  to  begin  the  fireworks,  ht  and  started 
a  flying  machine  in  the  shape  of  Cupid  bearing  a  burning 
torch.  Along  an  invisible  wire  Cupid  glided  down  from  the 
gallery  to  a  raft  on  the  Neva,  where  screens  had  been  erected 
for  "  fire  diversions  "  in  wicker  work  designs,  and  with  his 
torch  he  set  the  first  allegory  on  fire — two  flaring  red  hearts 
on  an  altar  of  dazzhng  light.  On  one  of  them  was  traced 
in  green  light  a  Latin  P,  on  the  other  a  C —  Petnis,  Caterina. 
The  two  hearts  merged  into  one,  the  inscription  appeared  : 
"  Out  of  two  I  create  one."  Venus  and  Cupid  blessed  the 
wedlock  of  Peter  and  Catherine. 

Another  configuration  appeared,  a  transparent  luminous 
picture  with  two  designs  ;  on  the  one  side  the  god  Neptune 
looking  towards  Cronstadt,  the  newly  erected  fortress  in 
the  sea,  with  the  inscription  "  Videt  et  stupescit — He 
sees  and  is  amazed."  On  the  other — Petersburg,  the  new 
town  amidst  marshes  and  woods,  with  the  inscription 
"  Urbs  ubi  sylva  fuit." 

Peter,  a  great  lover  of  fireworks,  managing  everything 
himself,  explained  the  allegories  to  the  audience. 

With  pealing  hiss,  in  sheaves  of  fire,  numerous  rockets 
soared  into  the  heavens,  and  there,  in  the  vaulted  dark- 
ness, dissolved  into  a  rain  of  slowly  dropping  and  fading 
red,  blue,  green  and  violet  stars.  The  Neva  reflected  and 
multiplied  them  in  her  black  mirror.  Fiery  wheels  were 
set  turning  ;  fiery  jets  sprang  forth  ;  serpents  began  to  hiss 
and  twirl ;  water  and  air  balls,  bursting  like  bombs, 
crashed  with  a  deafening  noise.  A  fiery  hall  appeared  with 
blazing  pillars,  flaming  arches  and  staircases,  and  in  its 
centre,  dazzling  as  the  sun,  shone  forth  the  last  tableau  : 
a  sculptor — was  it  the  Titan  Prometheus  ? — standing 
before  an  unfinished  statue,  which  he  is  hewing  with  chisel 
and  hammer  out  of  a  block  of  marble.  Above  on  a  pedi- 
ment was  the  All-seeing  Eye  in  a  glory,  with  the  inscription. 


36  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  Deo  adjuvante."  The  stone  block  represented  ancient 
Russia.  The  statue,  although  unfinished,  already  bore 
the  semblance  of  the  goddess  Venus — she  was  the  new 
Russia.  The  sculptor  was,  in  fact,  Peter  himself.  This 
tableau  did  not  quite  succeed  :  the  statue  burnt  down 
too  quickly  and  crumbled  at  the  sculptor's  feet.  He 
seemed  to  beat  the  air;  then  the  hammer  too  crumbled 
away,  and  the  hand  remained  still.  The  All-seeing  Eye 
grew  dim  ;  it  leered  suspiciously  and  gave  an  ominous 
wink. 

No  one,  however,  paid  any  attention  to  this ;  all  were 
occupied  by  a  new  spectacle.  In  clouds  of  smoke,  illumined 
by  a  rainbow  of  Bengal  lights,  there  appeared  a  huge  mon- 
ster, neither  horse  nor  dragon  ;  with  pointed  wings  and 
fins,  and  its  tail  covered  with  scales,  it  came  swimming 
along  the  Neva  from  the  fortress  towards  the  Summer 
Garden,  towed  by  a  flotilla  of  rowing  boats.  In  a  gigantic 
shell  on  the  monster's  back,  sat  Neptune,  with  a  long  white 
beard  and  a  harpoon  at  his  feet — sirens  and  tritons  blowing 
trumpets  :  "  The  tritons  of  the  Northern  Neptune  sound 
the  fame  of  Russia's  Tsar  wherever  they  go,"  explained  one 
of  the  onlookers,  the  chaplain  of  the  fleet,  Gabriel  Boushin- 
sk3^  The  monster  was  dragging  after  it  six  pair  of  empty 
barrels  tightly  bunged,  with  the  cardinals  of  the  "  most 
Foolish  Conclave "  sitting  astride,  one  on  each  barrel, 
securely  strapped  so  cis  to  prevent  their  falling  into  the 
water  ;  they  swam  in  this  procession,  pair  after  pair,  loudly 
blowing  their  cow  horns.  After  this  followed  a  raft  made 
up  entirely  of  such  barrels  ;  it  carried  a  huge  tub  filled  with 
beer  on  which  the  Kniaz-Pope,  prelate  of  Bacchus,  floated 
in  a  wooden  ladle  as  in  a  boat ;  Bacchus  himself  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  tub.  Accompanied  by  strains  of  solemn 
music,  this  huge  water  machine  slowly  approached  the 
Summer  Garden,  stopped  at  the  Central  Pavilion,  where  the 
gods  landed. 

Neptune  turned  out  to  be  the  Tsar's  court  jester,  the  old 
boyar  Tourgenev  ;  the  sirens,  with  their  long  fish-tails 
dragging  after  them,  like  long  trains,  almost  concealing  their 
feet,  were  serf  girls  ;  the  tritons,  the  stable-men  of  the 
Admiral  Apraksin  ;  the  Satyr  or  Pan  accompanying  Bac- 
chus was  the  French  dancing  master  of  Prince  Mcnshikoff ; 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  zi 

the  adroit  Frenchman  executed  such  gambols,  that  one 
could  believe  he  had  goat's  legs  like  a  real  faun.  In 
Bacchus,  wearing  a  tiger's  skin  and  a  wreath  of  artificial 
grapes,  with  a  sausage  in  one  hand  and  a  brandy  bottle  in 
the  other,  they  recognised  Konon  Karpoff,  the  leader  of  the 
court  choristers  ;  he  was  exceptionally  fat  and  had  a 
ruddy  face  ;  to  make  him  appear  more  real,  he  had  for 
three  whole  days  been  pitilessly  filled  with  brandy,  so  that, 
according  to  his  companions,  "  he  had  grown  like  a  ripe 
cranberry,"  and  thus  become  a  veritable  Bacchus. 

The  gods  surrounded  the  statue  of  Venus.  Bacchus, 
reverently  supported  by  the  cardinals  and  the  mock-Pope, 
fell  on  his  knees  before  the  statue,  bowed  before  her  very 
low,  and  proclaimed  in  a  thunderous  bass  voice,  worthy  of 
a  cathedral  precentor  :  "  Most  honourable  mother  Venus, 
thy  humble  serv^ant  Bacchus,  born  of  Semele,  the  creator 
of  wine  and  joy,  petitions  thee  against  thy  son  Eros.  Do 
not  allow  him,  that  mad  Eros,  to  hurt  us  thy  people,  to 
ruin  our  souls,  to  wound  our  hearts  ;  may  it  please  thee. 
Gracious  Queen,  to  be  merciful  unto  us."  The  cardinals 
responded  with  "  Amen."  Drunk  as  he  was,  by  force  of 
habit  Karpoff  was  just  going  to  start  a  church  hymn  in 
response,  but  was  checked  in  time.. 

Then  the  Kniaz-Pope,  the  Tsar's  aged  tutor,  a  boyar  and 
table-companion  in  Tsar  Alexis'  time,  Nikita  Zotoff,  in  a 
burlesque  mantle  of  red  velvet  trimmed  with  ermine,  on 
his  head  a  threefold  tiara  crowned  with  the  indecent  figure 
of  a  naked  Eros,  placed  before  the  statue,  on  a  brazier  made 
of  kitchen  turnspits,  a  round  brass  pan,  such  as  was  com- 
monly used  for  preparing  hot  punch.  Pouring  some  brandy 
into  it,  he  lit  it.  On  long  poles,  bending  with  the  weight, 
the  Tsar's  grenadiers  brought  in  a  tub  of  peppered  brandy. 
Besides  the  clergy,  who  were  present  at  this  festival,  as  at 
all  similar  burlesques,  all  the  guests,  both  cavaliers  and 
dames  and  even  young  girls,  were  obliged  to  approach  the 
tub  one  by  one  ;  they  had  to  accept  a  large  wooden  spoonful 
of  brand}',  were  expected  to  all  but  empty  it,  and  pour  the 
few  remaining  drops  on  the  altar  fire.  Then  the  cavaliers 
kissed  ^'enus  ;  the  older  ones  her  foot,  the  younger  ones 
her  hand,  while  the  ladies  greeted  her  with  ceremonious 
courtesy.     The  ceremonies,  every  detail  of  which  had  been 


38  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

thought  out  and  arranged  for  by  the  Tsar,  had  to  be 
punctiHously  gone  through  under  pain  of  severe  punish- 
ment, even  lashing.  The  old  Tsaritsa  Proscovy,  Peter's 
sister-in-law,  his  brother  John's  widow,  also  drank  brandy 
from  the  tub  and  curtsied  before  Venus.  She,  as  a  rule, 
tried  to  please  Peter  and  yielded  to  all  his  new-fangled  ideas  ; 
it  was  of  no  use  trying  to  sail  against  the  wind.  Yet  when 
the  dignified  old  dame,  dressed  in  her  dark  widow's  jerkin — 
Peter  allowed  her  to  wear  the  old  style  of  dress — made  the 
curtesy  after  the  foreign  manner  before  "  the  shameless 
naked  wench,"  she  felt  very  uneasy  at  heart. 

"  I  would  rather  be  dead  than  see  all  this  !  "  thought  she. 
The  Tsarevitch  also  humbly  kissed  the  hand  of  Venus. 
Avramoff  tried  to  hide  himself,  but  he  was  soon  found  out  and 
brought  back  by  force  ;  although  he  quaked,  and  paled, 
and  shuddered,  and  sweated,  and  almost  swooned,  when, 
kissing  Satan's  image,  he  felt  his  lips  touch  the  cold  marble, 
yet  he  accurately  performed  the  ceremony,  watched  by  the 
keen  eye  of  the  Tsar  whom  he  feared  even  more  than  the 
"  white  devils." 

The  goddess  seemed  to  look  down  upon  these  desecra- 
tions of  the  gods,  this  play  of  the  barbarians,  without  the 
least  wrath.  They  adored  her  involuntarily,  even  in  this 
scoffing  ;  the  burlesque  tripod  became  a  real  altar  on  which 
in  the  flickering  bluish  flame,  thin  as  the  serpent's  sting, 
burnt  the  soul  of  Dionysus,  her  brother  god.  And  illu- 
mined by  this  flame  the  goddess  smiled  her  subtle  smile. 

The  banquet  began.  At  the  top  end  of  the  table,  under 
a  canopy  made  of  hop  foliage  and  whortleberries,  which  grew 
on  the  hillocks  of  the  native  marshes  and  took  the  place  of 
the  classic  myrtle,  sat  Bacchus  astride  a  barrel  from  which 
the  Kniaz-Pope  filled  the  glasses  with  wine. 

Tolstoi,  addressing  himself  to  Bacchus,  declaimed  another 
poem  by  Anacreon. 

When  Bacchus,   Jove's  immortal  boy, 

The  rosy  harbinger  of  joy. 

Who,  with  the  sunshine  of  the  bowl. 

Thaws  the  winter  of  our  soul  ; 

When  to  my  inmost  core  he  glides, 

And  bathes  it  with  his  ruby  tides, 

A  flow  of  joy,  a  lively  heat. 

Fires  my  brain,  and  wings  my  feet  ! 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  39 

'Tis  surely  something  sweet,  I  think, 
Nay,  something  heavenly  sweet,   to  drink  ! 
Sing,  sing  of  love,  let  music's  breath 
Softly  beguile  our  rapturous  death. 
While,  my  young  Venus,   thou  and  I 
To  the  voluptuous  cadence  die  ! 
Then  waking  from  our  languid  trance, 
Again  we'll  sport,  again  we'll  dance. 

"  It's  plain  from  the  verses,"  remarked  Peter,  "  that 
Anacreon  was  a  lordly  drunkard  and  took  life  mighty 
easily." 

After  the  customary  toasts  for  the  welfare  of  the  fleet,  the 
Tsar  and  the  Tsaritsa,  the  Archimandrite  Theodosius  Janov- 
ski  stood  up  with  solemn  air,  glass  in  hand.  Notwithstanding 
the  Polish  expression  of  self-esteem  on  his  face — he  belonged 
to  the  minor  Polish  nobility — notwithstanding  the  blue 
decoration  ribbon,  and  the  diamond  panagia  with  the 
Emperor's  likeness  on  one  side  and  the  crucifix  on  the 
other,  with  the  diamonds  more  in  number  and  larger  on 
the  fonner  than  the  latter,  notwithstanding  all  this, 
Theodosius,  to  quote  Avramoff's  account,  "  had  the  appear- 
ance of  some  monstrosity,"  of  a  starvehng  or  an  abor- 
tion. He  was  small,  thin  and  angular  ;  in  his  tall  mitre 
with  its  long  folds  of  black  crepe,  his  very  wide  pall  with 
wide  open  sleeves,  he  greatly  resembled  a  bat.  Yet  when 
he  joked  and  especially  when  he  scoffed  at  sacred  things, 
which  usually  happened  when  he  was  drunk,  his  sly  eyes 
would  sparkle  with  such  wit,  such  impudent  mirth,  that  the 
miserable  face  of  the  batlike  abortion  became  almost 
attractive. 

"  This  will  not  be  a  flattering  oration,"  said  Theodosius, 
turning  to  the  Tsar,"  but  I  speak  the  truth  from  my  heart  : 
by  your  Majesty's  actions  we  have  been  led  from  the  dark- 
ness of  ignorance  into  the  lighted  theatre  of  fame,  from 
death  into  life,  and  have  even  joined  the  throng  of  civihsed 
nations.  Monarch  !  you  have  renewed  and  revived  every- 
thing, and  more  yet,  given  new  life  to  your  subjects.  What 
was  Russia  in  olden  times  ?  What  is  she  to-day  ?  Let  us 
consider  the  houses :  old  rough  huts  have  been  replaced  by 
bright  palaces  ;  withered  twigs  by  blooming  gardens.  Let 
us  consider  the  fortifications  :  here  have  we  things 
which  prior  to  this  we  have  not  even  beheld  on  charts  I  " 


40  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

He  went  on  talking  for  a  long  time  "  about  laws,  free 
learning,  arts,"  the  fleet,  these  armed  arks,  the  reformation 
and  the  new  birth  of  the  Church, 

"  And  thou,"  he  exclaimed  in  conclusion,  brandishing 
his  arms  in  the  heat  of  rhetoric,  so  that  the  wide  sleeves, 
like  black  wings,  made  him  still  more  like  a  bat,  "  And 
thou,  City  of  Peter  !  young  in  thy  supremacy  !  How  great 
is  the  renown  of  thy  founder  !  In  a  place  where  nobody 
even  as  much  as  dreamt  of  human  habitation,  in  a  short 
time  a  city  has  been  erected  worthy  to  hold  the  monarch's 
throne  '  Urbs  ubi  sylva  fuit.'  A  city  in  place  of  a  wood. 
And  who  will  not  praise  the  position  of  this  city  ?  The 
district  not  only  excels  in  beauty  the  rest  of  Russia,  but 
even  in  other  countries  the  like  cannot  be  found  !  On  a 
cheerful  site  art  thou  erected  !  Verily  a  metamorphosis, 
a  change  in  Russia  hast  thou  accomplished,  O  Majesty  !  " 

Alexis  listened,  and  looked  at  Theodosius  attentively. 
"When  the  later  mentioned  the  "  cheerful  site  "  their  eyes 
met  for  an  instant,  and  the  Tsarevitch  seemed  to  discern 
a  spark  of  mockery  in  the  orator's  eyes.  He  remembered 
how  Theodosius  had  often  in  his  hearing,  during  his  father's 
absence,  reviled  this  "  cheerful  site "  and  termed  it  a 
"  devil's  bog,"  "  a  devil's  haunt  ;  "  for  some  time  already 
it  seemed  to  the  Tsarevitch  that  Theodosius  was  laughing 
at  his  father,  almost  in  his  very  face,  only  disguised  so 
cleverly  and  adroitly  that  no  one  save  he,  Alexis,  noticed  it ; 
and  every  time  on  a  similar  occasion,  Theodosius  would 
exchange  quick  cunning  looks  with  him,  as  if  he  saw  in  him 
an  accomplice. 

Peter,  according  to  his  custom,  replied  simply  and  con- 
cisely to  the  ceremonious  oration  : 

"  I  am  eager  that  the  people  should  know  how  the  Lord 
hath  helped  us  hitherto.  Yet  we  must  not  slacken  our 
efforts  ;  but  taking  up  whatever  burden  God  lays  before 
us,  work  for  the  good  and  advantage  of  the  community." 

And  returning  to  ordinary  conversation  he  gave  in 
Dutch  (so  that  the  foreigners  present  could  follow  him)  an 
exposition  of  the  thought  he  had  lately  heard  from  the 
philosopher  Leibnitz,  and  which  had  greatly  struck  him, 
"  the  rotation  of  sciences  :  "  all  science  and  art  were  born 
in  the  East  and  in  Greece,  thence  they  travelled  to  Italy, 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  41 

France,  Germany,  and  lastly  through  Poland  they  came 
into  Russia.  "  Now  our  turn  has  come  ;  from  us  they  will 
again  return  to  Greece  and  to  the  East,  their  birthp)]ace, 
completing  a  perfect  circle  in  their  wanderings.  This 
Venus,"  concluded  Peter,  lapsing  into  Russian,  with  a 
naive  declamatory  eloquence,  natural  to  him,  "  this  Venus 
has  come  to  us  from  there,  from  Greece.  Our  soil  has 
been  ploughed  with  the  plough  of  Mars,  and  the  seed  has 
been  scattered.  We  now  await  a  good  return  which  Thou, 
O  Lord,  vouchsafe  unto  us  !  May  our  harvest  come  soon 
and  not  like  that  of  the  date  palm,  whose  fruit  is  never  seen 
by  those  who  plant  it.  May  Venus  the  goddess  of  all  that 
is  loveable,  domestic  felicity,  and  national  concord,  ally 
herself  to-day  with  Mars.  May  the  union  be  for  the  glory 
of  Russia." 

"  Vivat,  vivat,  vivat,  Peter  the  Great,  the  father  of  his 
country,  the  Emperor  of  all  Russia  !  "  shouted  the  guests 
raising  their  glasses  of  Hungarian  wine.  The  Imperial 
title,  announced  publicly  neither  to  Europe  nor  even  to 
Russia,  was  accepted  here  in  the  circle  of  "  Peter's  Eaglets." 

In  the  left  wing  of  the  gallery,  the  ladies'  pavilion,  the 
tables  had  been  pushed  aside  and  dancing  begun.  The 
music  of  war  trumpets,  hautboys,  and  kettledrums  of  the 
Simeon  and  Preobrazhensky  regiments,  coming  from  behind 
the  trees  of  the  Summer  Garden,  softened  by  distance  and 
perhaps  by  the  charm  of  the  goddess,  sounded  here  at  her 
feet,  like  the  delicate  flutes  and  violes  d' amour  of  Cupid's 
kingdom,  where  lambs  graze  on  soft  meadows  and  shep- 
herds loosen  the  girdles  of  shepherdesses. 

Peter  Tolstoi,  who  was  dancing  in  the  minuet  with 
Princess  Tsherkassky,  hummed  in  his  mellow  voice  to  the 
strains  of  the  music  : 

'Tis  time  to  cast  thy  bow  away, 

We  all  are,  Cupid,  in  thy  sway. 

Thy  golden  love-awak  ng  dart 

Hath  reached  and  wounded  every  heart. 

And  affectedl}^  curtsying  to  the  cavaUer,  as  the  rule  of  a 
minuet  demanded,  the  pretty  princess  responded  with  the 
languid  smile  of  a  Chloe  to  the  aged  Daphrtis.  Meanwhile 
in  the  dark  alleys,  bowers,  in  all  the  secluded  nooks  of  the 


42  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Summer  Garden,  whispers,  rustlings,  kisses,  sighs  of  love 
were  heard  ;  the  goddess  Venus  had  begun  her  reign  in  the 
Hyperborean  Scythia. 

In  an  oak  grove,  apart  from  the  rest,  so  that  none  could 
overhear  them,  a  group  of  servants  and  pages,  belonging 
to  the  Tsar's  household,  were  discussing  the  love  exploits 
of  their  friends,  the  court  ladies  or  maidens,  after  the 
manner  of  true  Scythians  and  Barbarians. 

In  the  presence  of  women  they  were  shy  and  bashful, 
but  when  by  themselves  they  spoke  about  "  women  "  with 
brutal   shamelessness. 

"  The  wench  Hamilton  spent  a  night  with  the  master," 
calmly  announced  one  of  them. 

It  was  Mary  Hamilton,  the  Tsaritsa's  lady  in  waiting. 

"  The  master  is  gallant,  he  can't  Uve  without  mis- 
tresses," remarked  another. 

"  It  is  not  her  first  either,"  retorted  a  page,  a  boy  of  about 
fifteen,  deliberately  spitting  and  again  puffing  the  pipe 
which  made  him  sick  :  "  Before  the  master's  time  she  had 
a  child  by  Golitsin." 

"  And  how  do  they  manage  to  get  rid  of  the  brats  ?  "  the 
first  one  queried  in  amazement. 

"  And  the  husband  does  not  know  what  his  wife  is  after  !  " 
giggled  the  lad.  "  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  just  now,  from 
behind  the  shrubs,  how  Billy  Mons  made  love  to  our  mis- 
tress !  " 

Wilhelm  ]\Ions  was  the  Tsaritsa's  Kammer junker,  a 
foreigner  of  low  origin,  yet  very  adroit  and  handsome. 

Huddling  closer  together,  they  began  to  speak  about  the 
strange  rumour,  which  said  that,  quite  lately,  when  cleaning 
a  stopped  up  pipe  of  one  of  the  fountains  in  the  royal  garden, 
the  body  of  an  infant  was  found,  wrapped  in  a  palace  napkin. 

The  Summer  Garden  possessed  the  inevitable  "  grotto," 
met  with  in  all  French  gardens  ;  it  was  a  square  edifice  on 
the  banks  of  the  river  Fontanna,  rather  awkward  from  the 
outside,  suggesting  a  Dutch  church,  while  the  inside  resem- 
bled a  cave,  laid  out  with  large  shells,  mother  of  pearl, 
corals  and  ])orous  stones ;  numerous  fountains  and  water 
jets  flowed  into  marble  basins  with  that  abundance  of  water, 
too  great  for  the  damp  city  of  Petersburg,  yet  so  dear  to  the 
heart  of  Peter. 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  43 

Here  staid  old  men,  senators,  and  dignitaries,  were  also 
conversing  about  love  and  women. 

*'  In  olden  days  true  wedlock  was  sacred,  whereas  nowa- 
days, lust  is  considered  gallantry,  even  by  the  husbands 
themselves,  who  with  a  calm  heart  watch  their  wives  make 
love  to  others  and  call  us  fools  for  staking  our  honour  on  so 
weak  a  spot.  They  have  given  women  their  freedom  ; 
just  wait  a  bit,  they  will  soon  master  every  one  of  us," 
grumbled  the  oldest  among  them. 

A  younger  one  remarked  that  "  free  intercourse  between 
the  sexes  is  agreeable  natural  to  all  men,  not  fossilised  by 
ancient  customs.  The  real  love  passion,  unknown  in  bar- 
barous ages,  had  begun  to  possess  sensitive  hearts ; "  that 
"  nowadays  marriage  boorishly  reaps  in  one  day  all  the 
flowers  love  tenderly  rears  for  years  ;  and  jealousy  is  the 
pest  of  love." 

"  Fair  women  have  always  been  facile,"  decided  a 
middle-aged  man,  "  but  no  doubt  the  devils  themselves 
have  set  up  their  abode  inside  the  ribs  of  the  present  giddy 
generation.     They  will  hear  of  nothing  but  love-making." 

"  And  httle  girls,  stirred  by  this  example,  begin  to  flirt, 
and  only  can't  do  it,  poor  things,  because  they  are  too  inno- 
cent.    Oh  !  how  the  desire  to  please  dominates  women  !  " 

Here  entered  her  Majesty  Catherine,  attended  by  the 
Kammerjunker  Mons  and  Mary  Hamilton,  her  lady  in  wait- 
ing, a  proud  Scotchwoman  with  the  face  of  Diana.  The 
least  elderly  of  the  two  old  men,  aware  that  Catherine  was 
listening  to  their  conversation,  began  amiably  to  defend  the 
ladies. 

"  Truth  herself  proves  the  dignified  nature  of  womankind 
by  the  fact,  that  God,  at  the  end  of  His  work,  on  the  last  day 
created  Adam's  wife,  as  if  without  her  the  world  were 
incomplete.  Woman's  body  alone  is  composed  of  all 
that  is  most  charming  in  the  universe.  Add  to  these 
advantages  her  beauty  of  mind,  and  how  can  we  help 
wondering  at  her  perfection,  and  what  excuses  can  be  given 
by  him  who  does  not  show  due  deference  to  her  ?  Should 
there  be  some  weakness  about  v/omen,  it  is  right  to  remem- 
ber, how  delicately  they  are  made."  The  oldest  of  the 
speakers  only  shook  his  head.  His  face  clearly  expressed 
that  he  was  not  convinced,  that  in  his  opinion  "  woman  was 


44  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

as  far  removed  from  a  human  being,  as  a  crab  was  from  a 
fish  ;  a  woman  and  the  devil  make  a  fine  match." 

In  the  opening,  between  the  cloven  clouds,  on  the  trans- 
parent melancholy  sky  bathed  in  golden-emerald,  appeared 
the  narrow  sickle  of  the  newborn  moon  ;  it  cast  a  gentle 
beam  into  the  depths  of  a  dark  alley,  where  near  a  fountain 
surrounded  by  the  semicircle  of  a  tall  clipped  hedge,  on  a 
wooden  bench,  at  the  foot  of  a  marble  Pomona,  there  sat  a 
solitary  girl  of  seventeen.  She  wore  a  wide  dress  of  pink 
taffeta  embroidered  with  small  yellow  florets  ;  she  had 
a  slender  waist  and  a  fashionable  headdress  ;  yet  so  Russian 
and  simple  was  her  face,  that  it  was  evident  she  had  only 
recently  left  a  calm  country  life,  where  she  had  grown  up 
surrounded  by  nurses,  under  the  thatched  roof  of  an  old 
house.  Casting  a  timid  look  around  her,  she  undid  two 
or  three  buttons  of  her  frock  and  swiftly  pulled  out  a  roll 
of  paper,  hid  in  her  bosom  and  warm  from  the  contact.  It 
was  a  love  missive  from  her  nineteen  year  old  cousin,  who 
by  the  Tsar's  command  had  first  been  torn  from  the  same 
peaceful  spot,  sent  to  Petersburg,  then  placed  in  the  navy 
school  connected  with  the  admiralty,  and  a  few  days  ago 
had  been  sent  on  a  man-of-war  with  other  gardes-marines, 
either  to  Cadiz  or  Lisbon — to  quote  his  own  expression  "  to 
the  world's  end."  By  the  light  of  the  white  night  and  the 
moon  the  young  girl  read  the  note,  written  on  ruled  lines  in 
large  round  childish  characters  : 

"  My  heart's  treasure,  my  angel  Nastia.  I  would  like  to 
know  why  you  did  not  send  me  the  last  kiss.  Cupid  the 
thief  has  wounded  my  heart  with  his  arrow.  I  suffer 
greatly,  my  heart's  blood  is  frozen." 

A  heart  was  drawn  with  blood  instead  of  ink  between  the 
lines,  the  same  was  pierced  by  two  arrows  ;  red  spots  stood 
for  drops  of  blood. 

Then  followed  verses  probably  copied  from  somewhere — 

Remember  Joy,  our  merry  talk, 
Sweet  words  during  every  walk. 
How  long  is  it  since  last  I  saw  thee  ? 
Come  my  fair  dove,  come  fly  to  me. 
Should  my  wish  be  not  in  vain, 
Mad  with  joy  I'd  be  agaia. 

Having  read  the  love  letter,  Nastia  carefully  rolled  it  up, 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  45 

hid  it  again  in  her  bosom,  hung  her  head  and  covered 
her  face  with  a  handkerchief,  scented  with  "  Cupid's 
sighs." 

When  she  looked  up  again,  a  black  cloud  resembling  a 
monster  with  gaping  mouth  had  almost  swallowed  the 
narrow  moon.  His  last  beam  reflected  itself  in  the  tear  which 
hung  on  the  young  girl's  eye-lash.  She  watched  the  moon 
disappearing  and  hummed  to  herself  the  only  love-song  she 
knew — how  it  became  known  to  her  no  one  could  say  : — 

Wherever  I  roam,  and  wherever  I  go, 

My  heart  it  feels  heavy,  my  spirits  are  low. 

And  I,  like  a  dove  without  wings,   must  make  moan, 

For  what  is  in  life  when  my  dearest  is  gone  ? 

Young  am  I  and  yet  shedding  tear  after  tear 

For  the  sweetheart  who  left  me  in  loneliness  here 

Everything  about  her  was  strange  and  artificial,  "  after  the 
manner  of  Versailles,"  the  fountain,  Pomona,  the  espaliers, 
her  dress  of  pink  taffeta  strewn  with  yellow  florets,  her 
hair  arrangement  "  Budding  pleasure,"  and  the  scent 
"  Cupid's  sighs."  Only  she  herself  with  her  quiet  grief  and 
gentle  song  had  remained  simple,  Russian,  just  as  she  had 
been  under  the  thatched  roof  of  her  father's  country  house. 

Close  to  her,  from  the  dark  alleys,  bowers  and  every 
possible  nook  of  the  Summer  Garden,  there  continued  to 
come  whispers,  rustles,  kisses  and  love-sick  sighs. 

The  sound  of  the  minuet,  wafted  across  like  shepherds' 
flutes  and  violes  d'amour  from  Venus'  kingdom,  with  the 
languid  melody  : — 

'Tis  time  to  cast  thy  bow  away, 

Cupid,  we  all  are  in  thy  swav. 

Thy  gol  'en  love-awaking  dart 

Has  reached  and  wounded  every  heart  ! 

In  the  pavilion,  round  the  Tsar's  table  the  conversation 
continued.  Peter  was  talking  with  the  monks  about  the 
origin  of  Hellenic  Polytheism  ;  he  could  not  conceive  how 
the  ancient  Greeks,  who  had  di-^played  sufficient  knowledge 
about  natural  laws  and  mathematical  principles,  could  at 
the  same  time  call  their  soulless  idols  gods,  and  believe 
in  them. 

Here  Michael  Avramoff  could  no  longer  contain  himself, 


46  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

he  mounted  his  hobby  and  began  to  prove  that  the  gods 
exist,  that  they  are  in  reahty  evil  spirits. 

"  You  talk  about  them  as  if  you  yourself  had  seen  them," 
said  Peter. 

"  Not  I,  but  others  have  really  seen  them,  your  Majesty, 
— beheld  them  with  their  own  eyes,"  exclaimed  Avramoff 
triumphantly.  He  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  fat  leather 
pocket  book,  found  in  it  two  old  cuttings  from  the  Dutch 
newspapers  and  began  to  read,  translating  them  into 
Russian  : — 

"  We  are  informed  from  Spain  that  a  stranger  has  brought 
with  him  to  Barcelona  a  Satyr,  a  man  covered  with  wool 
as  with  bark,  and  having  goat's  horns  and  hoofs.  He  eats 
bread  and  milk,  does  not  speak,  but  only  bleats  like  a  goat. 
This  deformity  attracts  many  visitors."  The  second  :  "  In 
Jutland  fishermen  have  caught  a  siren  or  mermaid.  The 
monster  has  a  human  body  with  a  fish's  tail.  The  skin  is 
pale  yellow,  the  eyes  are  closed,  the  hair  on  the  head  is 
black.  A  membrane  connects  the  fingers  just  like  a  goose's 
foot.  The  fishermen  pulled  their  net  to  the  shore  with  great 
difficulty,  breaking  it  in  many  places.  Then  the  people 
made  a  huge  tub,  filled  it  with  salt  water  and  put  the  mer- 
maid into  it  ;  they  did  this  in  the  hope  of  preserving  her 
from  putrefying.  This  is  reported  on  account  of  the  many 
rumours  current  concerning  maritime  wonders,  not  all 
trustworthy,  but  this  one  may  be  believed,  because  the 
astonishing  sea-monster  has  been  caught." — Rotterdam, 
April  27,  1714." 

Printed  matter  was  as  a  rule  believed  in,  especially 
foreign  news,  for  if  foreigners  lie,  where  could  truth  be 
found  at  all  ?  Many  of  the  people  present  not  only  be- 
lieved in  ghosts,  nymphs,  were-wolfs,  water,  house,  and 
wood  spirits,  but  had  also  seen  the  like  with  their  own  eyes. 
If  wood  spirits  exist,  why  should  not  Satyrs  also  exist,  if 
nymphs  exist  why  should  not  mermaids  with  fish  tails  also  ? 
And  why  should  not  other  gods,  even  this  very  Venus,  also 
have  true  being  ? 

The  company  were  hushed,  silenced  ;  something  strange 
and  terrifying  seemed  to  pass  through  the  air  ;  all  suddenly 
became  conscious  of  doing  something  they  ought  not  to  do. 

Lower  and  lower  sank  the  sky  shrouded  in  black  clouds. 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  47 

Brighter  and  brighter  grew  the  bluish  flashes  of  thunderless 
hghtning.  And  these  sudden  flashes  of  hght  in  the  dark 
vault  seemed  to  reflect  the  bluish  flame  on  the  altar  which 
continued  to  glow  at  the  feet  of  the  statue  ;  or  else  in  the 
vault,  as  in  an  overturned  bowl  of  a  gigantic  altar,  hid  by  a 
bank  of  clouds,  black  as  charcoals,  there  glowed  the  Bac- 
chantic  flames,  sallying  forth  from  time  to  time  in  the  shape 
of  lightning.  The  fire  of  the  sky  and  the  flame  on  the 
altar,  responding  to  one  another,  seemed  to  hold  converse 
about  some  terrible  mystery  unrevealed  to  mankind,  yet 
already  enacting  itself  in  earth  and  sky. 

The  Tsarevitch,  who  was  sitting  not  very  far  from  the 
statue,  gazed  intently  at  her,  for  the  first  time  after  the 
reading  of  the  newspaper  cuttings.  The  nude  white  body 
of  the  goddess  seemed  so  familiar  to  him,  he  was  almost 
sure  he  had  seen  it  before  now,  and  even  more  than  seen  it 
— these  very  dimples  on  the  shoulders,  this  virginal  curve 
of  the  back  appeared  to  him  in  his  most  passionate,  secret 
visions,  visions  he  felt  ashamed  to  confess  even  to  himself. 
Suddenly  he  remembered  to  have  seen  this  same  curve, 
these  same  dimples  on  the  shoulder  of  his  mistress,  the 
serf  girl  Afrossinia.  He  felt  dizzy,  probably  from  the  wine, 
the  heat,  the  close  atmosphere,  and  all  this  monstrous 
festival,  so  like  a  nightmare.  He  glanced  again  at  the 
statue,  and  suddenly  the  white  nude  body,  in  the  double 
light  of  the  red  smoky  illumination  vessels  and  the  bluish 
flame  of  the  tripod,  appeared  so  real,  terrible  and  enticing 
to  him,  that  he  was  obliged  to  cast  down  his  eyes.  Was 
it  indeed  possible  that  the  goddess  Venus  should  appear 
to  him  also,  as  she  did  to  Avramoff,  in  the  guise  of  a 
were-wolf — the  serf  girl  Afrossinia  ?  He  crossed  himself 
in  thought. 

"  Not  the  Hellenes  are  to  be  wondered  at,  who,  ignorant 
of  the  Christian  law,  bowed  before  lifeless  idols,"  rejoined 
Theodosius,  continuing  the  conversation  internipted  by  the 
reading,  "  but,  rather  we  Christians,  who,  ignorant  of  true 
reverence  for  icons,  worship  them  as  idols  !  " 

This  started  one  of  those  conversations  which  Peter 
specially  delighted  in,  about  all  sorts  of  false  wonders  and 
signs,  the  deceitfulness  of  monks,  the  possessed,  nervous 
epileptic  women,  saintly  madmen,  old  wives'  tales,  and  the 


48  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

superstition  of  Russian  priests.  Again  Alexis  had  to  listen 
to  all  these  oft-repeated  oJious  tales :  about  the  shift 
of  the  Queen  of  heaven,  which  the  monks  had  broutjht  from 
Jerusalem,  as  a  gift  to  Catherine,  and  which  was  supposed 
could  neither  burn  nor  rot.  When  the  material  was  experi- 
mented on  it  turned  out  to  be  woven  of  a  special  fireproof 
fibre — amianth  :  about  the  incorruptible  body  of  the  Fin- 
nish girl  von  Grot,  whose  skin  "  was  Uke  prepared  pigshide 
and  when  pressed  returned  like  a  ball  to  its  shape"  ;  and 
about  other  false  relics  made  of  ivory  which  Peter  had  or- 
dered to  be  sent  in  to  the  Petersburg  Kunstkammer  as  a 
memento  of  "  superstition  now  being  exterminated  b}^  the 
zeal  of  the  clergy." 

"  Yes,  there  is  much  deception  in  the  Russian  Church  con- 
cerning miracles,"  concluded  Theodosius,  in  his  tone  of 
plaintive  malignity.  He  mentioned  the  last  false  wonder 
on  record.  In  a  small  church  near  Petersburg  an  image  of 
the  Virgin  had  appeared,  which  shed  tears,  prophesying  as 
it  were  great  mishaps,  even  the  final  destruction  of  the  new 
city.  Peter,  informed  of  it  by  Theodosius,  went  himself  to 
the  church,  examined  the  icon,  and  exposed  the  deception. 
This  had  happened  quite  recently.  The  icon  had  not  yet 
been  sent  into  the  Kunstkammer,  and  it  had  meanwhile 
been  kept  in  the  Tsar's  Summer  Palace,  a  small  Dutch  house, 
here  in  the  garden,  only  at  a  distance  of  about  two  yards 
from  the  gallery,  on  the  corner  between  the  Fontanna  and 
the  Neva.  The  Tsar,  desirous  showing  it  to  his  guests, 
ordered  one  of  his  servants  to  fetch  the  icon.  When  the 
man  returned  Peter  left  the  table  and  coming  out  in  front 
of  the  statue,  where  there  was  more  room,  he,  leaning  with 
his  back  against  the  marble  pedestal  and  holding  the  image 
in  his  hand,  began  to  give  a  careful  and  elaborate  explana- 
tion of  the  deceptive  mechanism.  The  guests  again 
thronged  round  him,  crowding,  rising  on  tiptoe,  striving 
to  catch  a  glimpse  across  one  another's  shoulders  and  heads, 
just  as  at  the  beginning  of  the  festival,  when  the  case  con- 
taining the  statue  was  being  opened.  Theodosius  was 
holding  the  candle. 

The  icon  was  an  old  one.  The  face  was  dark,  almost 
black ;  only  the  large  sorrowful  eyes,  swollen  as  with  tears, 
seemed  alive.     Alexis  had  always  loved  and  honoured  this 


THE  VENUS  OF  PETERSBURG  49 

image  of  "  God's  mother,  the  Joy  of  all  the  sorrowing." 

Peter  removed  the  silver  trimming  set  v^^ith  priceless 
gems  ;  it  came  off  easily,  having  been  already  loosened 
during  the  first  examination.  He  then  unscrewed  the  brass 
screws,  which  fastened  a  small  piece  of  new  hmewood  to  the 
back  of  the  icon.  In  its  centre  was  fixed  a  smaller  piece  ; 
it  moved  easily  on  a  spring,  a  pressure  of  the  hand  was 
sufficient  to  work  it.  Removing  both  boards  Peter  pointed 
to  two  little  cavities  hollowed  out  in  the  wood  just  against 
the  eyes  of  the  image.  Two  tiny  sponges  soaked  with  water 
were  placed  in  them,  the  water  oozed  through  the  almost 
imperceptible  holes  bored  in  the  eyes,  forming  drops  which 
looked  like  tears. 

Peter  proved  it  by  an  experiment  ;  he  moistened  the 
sponges,  put  them  into  their  cavities,  pressed  the  board  and 
the  tears  began  to  ffow. 

"  This  is  the  source  of  these  miraculous  tears,"  said 
Peter.  His  face  was  as  calm  as  if  he  had  just  been  describ- 
ing a  curious  trick  of  nature,  or  some  unusual  object  in  the 
Kunstkammer. 

"  Yes,  there  is  much  deception,"  repeated  Theodosius 
with  a  quiet  smile. 

All  were  hushed.  Somebody  moaned  in  a  low  voice, 
probably  a  drunkard  in  his  sleep.  Someone  else  tittered 
so  curiously  and  unexpectedly,  that  everybody  turned 
round  almost  in  terror.  Alexis  longed  to  go  away.  But 
some  strange  torpor  held  him,  as  in  a  nightmare,  when  the 
legs  refuse  to  carry  one  or  the  voice  to  cry  out.  In  this 
lethargy  he  stood  and  watched  Theodosius  holding  the  light, 
Peter  nimbly  and  adroitly  fingering  the  wood  of  the  image, 
the  tears  trickling  down  the  sorrowful  face,  and  over  all 
there  towered  the  white,  terrible  alluring  body  of  Venus. 
He  looked  on,  and  an  anguish  like  mortal  sickness  seized  his 
heart  and  almost  choked  him.  And  it  seemed  to  him  that 
this  tortuie  would  never  end, — that  it  always  had  been, 
and  would  be. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  blinding  flash  of  lightning  ; 
as  if  a  fiery  abyss  had  yawned  above  their  heads.  And 
through  the  glass  cupola  a  burning  light,  painfully  white, 
whiter  than  the  sun,  bathed  the  marble  statue.  Almost  at  the 
same  instant  a  short,  deafening  peal  of  thunder  was  heard, 

D 


50  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

as  though  heaven's  vault  had  been  cloven  and  fallen  into  ruin. 
A  darkness,  black  and  impenetrable,  followed  the  lightning- 
Suddenly  a  storm  broke  out,  and  moaned,  and  hissed,  and 
rolled  in  the  darkness  ;  high  wind  together  with  pouring  rain 
and  hail  ;  in  the  pavilion  a  general  confusion  ensued.  The 
piercing  shrieks  of  women  were  heard — one  of  them  was 
laughing  and  crying  in  hysterics.  The  terrified  people  fled, 
from  what,  they  knew  not,  knocking,  falling  and  crushing 
one  another.  Somebody  moaned  in  despair,  "  St.  Nicho- 
las !  Holy  Mother,  have  mercy  upon  us."  Peter,  letting 
the  icon  drop,  hurried  away  in  search  of  Catherine.  The 
flame  from  the  overturned  tripod,  going  out,  flared  up  for 
the  last  time  like  the  forked  sting  of  a  serpent,  in  the  shape 
of  an  azure  tongue,  lighting  up  the  face  of  the  goddess.  It 
alone  had  remained  calm  amid  the  storm,  darkness  and 
terror.  Someone  stepped  on  the  icon.  Alexis,  stooping 
to  lift  it,  heard  the  wood  crack.  The  image  had  broken  in 
two. 


Book  II 

ANTICHRIST 
CHAPTER    I 

A  coffin  of  pinewood  tree 
Stands  ready  prepared  for  me  ; 
Within  its  narrow  wall 
I'll  await   the  trumpet  call. 

THIS  was  the  song  of  certain  heretics,  the  raskolniks 
called — "  The  Coffin-liers  ."  "  Seven  thousand  years 
after  the  creation  of  the  world,"  said  they,  "  the  second 
coming  of  Christ  will  take  place  ;  and  should  it  not  happen 
we  will  burn  the  Gospels  themselves  ;  as  for  the  other  books 
it  is  not  worth  beli  ving  them."  And  they  left  their  houses, 
lands,  goods,  and  cattle,  and  every  night  went  out  into  the 
fields  and  woods,  put  on  clean  shirts  and  sh  ouds,  laid 
themselves  in  coffins  hollowed  out  of  tree  trunks,  and  saying 
mass  waited,  expecti  \g  at  every  moment  the  trumpet  call 
of  the  Judgment.   Such  was  their  idea  of  "  meeting  Christ." 

Opposite  the  headland  formed  by  the  Neva  and  the 
lesser  Neva,  in  the  widest  part  of  the  river,  close  to  Gagarin's 
hemp  warehouse,  among  the  rafts,  barges,  and  cargo  boats, 
stood  the  oak-rafts  belonging  to  Tsarevitch  Alexis.  They 
had  come  from  Nishigorod  to  Petersburg  for  the  Admiralty 
dockyard. 

On  the  night  of  the  Venus  festival  in  the  Summer  Garden 
an  old  bourlak  was  sitting  at  the  rudder  of  one  of  these 
rafts  ;  though  it  was  summer  he  still  wore  a  torn  sheepskin 
coat  and  bast  shoes.  They  called  him  "  foolish  John," 
and  he  passed  for  a  simpleton.  For  thirty  years, 
day  by  day,  month  by  month,  year  by  year,  he  would  sit 

61 


"^ 


52  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

every  night  till  dawn  waiting  to  "  meet  Christ,"  always 
chanting  the  same  song  of  the  coffin-hers.  Sitting  quite 
close  to  the  water  on  the  very  edge  of  the  raft,  bending 
over  and  with  both  hands  clasped  round  his  knees,  he 
looked  in  expectation  on  the  bits  of  golden-emerald  sky 
which  gleamed  through  the  black  torn  clouds.  His  fixed 
eyes  looking  from  under  matted  grey  hair  and  his  im- 
movable face  were  filled  with  terror  and  hope  ;  slowly 
swaying  from  side  to  side,  he  sang  in  a  long  drawn  melan- 
choly voice  : — 

A  coffin  of  pinewood  tree 
Stands  ready  prepared  for  me  ; 
Within  its  narrow  wall 
I'll  await   the  trumpet  call. 
When  the  angels  blow, 
From  the  graves  will  go 
Those  who  in   them  lie, 
To  God's  throne  on  high. 
Two  roads  are  there  to  take, 
Beware  which  choice  you  make  ! 
One  lea  Is  to  heaven  fair. 
One  to  old  Satan's  lair! 

"  Ivan  !  come  to  supper  !  "  they  called  from  the  other 
side  of  the  raft.  A  fire  was  burning  there  on  stones  which 
had  been  put  together  in  imitation  of  a  stove,  and  over  it 
hung  on  three  sticks  an  iron  kettle  boiling  fish-soup.  Ivan 
did  not  heed,  but  went  on  singing.  The  group  which  sat 
talking  round  the  fire  comprised,  beside  the  boatmen  and 
bourlaks,  the  aged  schismatic  Cornelius,  who  preached  of 
self-burning  and  was  now  on  his  way  to  the  Kershen  forests 
beyond  the  Volga  ;  his  disciple,  a  runaway  Moscow  scholar 
named  Tichon  Zapolsky  ;  Alexis  Furlong,  a  gunner,  deserter 
from  Astrachan  ;  the  caulker  Ivan  Boudloff,  a  sailor  under 
the  Admiralty,  also  a  dese-ter  ;  the  clerk  Larion  Dokoukin, 
an  old  woman  Vitalia  belonging  to  the  "  runners,"  who 
to  quote  her  own  words  "  led  the  life  of  a  bird,"  always 
on  the  move,  soaring  everywhere,  staying  nowhere  ;  her 
companion  Kilikeya  the  Barefooted,  an  epileptic  woman, 
who  had  a  "  satanic  suggestion  "  in  her  abdomen  ;  and 
many  other  "people  in  hiding"  who  had  fled  'o  save 
themselves  from  the  heavy  taxation,  soldiering,  the  cat-o'- 
nine  tails,  forced  labour,  tearing  of  nostrils,  beard  shaving. 


ANTICHRIST  53 

crossing  with  two  fingers,  or  some  of  the  other  terrors  of 
Antichrist. 

"  I  feel  sick  at  heart,"  said  Vitaha,  an  alert  old  woman, 
wearing  a  dark  loose  neckerchief  who,  though  wrinkled, 
was  red-cheeked  as  an  autumn  apple.  "  And,  I  know  not 
why,  the  days  seem  so  dark  ;  the  sun  does  not  seem  to  shine 
as  it  used  to." 

"  The  times  are  sad,  the  fear  of  Antichrist  is  invad- 
ing the  world,  hence  this  sorrow  and  heaviness,"  ex- 
plained Cornelius,  a  haggard  old  man  with  a  broad  pleasant 
face,  pock-marked  and,  apparently,  mole-eyed.  In  reality 
he  had  piercingly  sharp  sight  ;  he  wore  a  "  heretic  "  cape,  in 
shape  somewhat  monkish,  a  black  under-cassock  which 
had  turned  brown,  and  a  leather  belt  with  a  thong.  And 
whenever  he  moved,  his  iron  chain,  weighing  a  hundred 
weight  and  made  of  crosses  which  deeply  scored  into  his 
flesh,  would  clang  its  links  together.  "  I  too,  father  Cor- 
nelius, begin  to  see  that  these  are  the  last  days,"  groaned 
the  woman.  "  The  world's  sands  are  running  short;  they 
say  the  end  will  come  about  the  middle  of  the  eighth 
thousand  years." 

"  No,"  retorted  the  old  man  with  decision,  "  it  won't  even 
last  as  long  as  that." 

"  Lord  be  merciful  unto  us,"  sighed  one  of  the  company, 
"  God  knows  His  own  time  ;  all  we  can  do  is  to  say — God 
have  mercy  upon  us." 

And  they  all  lapsed  into  silence.  Clouds  had  again 
covered  up  the  opening  of  the  sky  which  had  become  as 
dark  as  the  Neva.  The  distant  lightning  grew  brighter  and 
brighter ;  with  each  flash  the  thin  taper  pinnacle  of  the  Peter 
and  Paul  fortress  shone  forth  like  a  streak  of  pale  gold, 
and  was  reflected  in  the  Neva  ;  the  flat  stone  battlements 
which  seem3d  to  be  sunken  into  the  banks,  and  the  group 
of  stucco  buildings  clustering  around  :  mercantile  and 
garrison  depots,  hemp  sheds  and  magazines,  stood  out  in 
black  relief.  In  the  distance,  on  the  opposite  shore,  the 
lights  of  the  Summer  Garden  glittered  through  the  trees. 
As  a  last  breath  of  the  late  Northern  spring  a  smell  of 
pine,  birch,  and  aspen  was  wafted  across  from  the  Lake  of 
Keivousary.  The  small  group  of  people  on  the  flat  and 
scarcely  visible  raft,  lit  up  by  a  red  fire,  between  the  black 


54  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

thunder  clouds  and  the  dark  surface  of  the  river  seemed 
lonely  and  forsaken,  as  if  hanging  in  the  air  midway  between 
two  skies  and  two  abysses. 

When  all  had  stopped  talking  such  silence  ensued,  that 
only  the  monotonous  rippling  of  the  stream  under  the 
logs  was  audible,  while  from  the  other  end  of  the  raft  came 
along  the  water  the  same  old  melancholy  song  : — 

A  coffin  of  pinewood  tree 
Stands  ready  prepared  for  me  ; 
Within  its  narrow  wall 
I'll  await  the  trumpet  call. 

"  Friends,  is  it  true,"  began  Kilikeya,  a  young  woman  with 
a  delicately  transparent,  almost  waxen  face,  and  feet  terri- 
ble to  look  at,  being  black  as  the  roots  of  an  old  tree  (she 
always  went  about  barefoot  even  in  the  keenest  frost), 
"  is  it  true  what  I  heard  to-day  in  the  market,  that  there 
is  no  Tsar  in  Russia ;  that  the  present  Tsar  is  not  the  right 
one,  neither  a  Russian  nor  of  royal  blood,  but  either  a 
foreigner  or  foreigner's  son,  or  a  Swedish  changeling  ?  " 

"  Neither  Swede  nor  foreigner,  but  a  damned  Jew  of  the 
tribe  of  Dan,"  declared  Cornelius. 

"  O  Lord,  Lord,"  again  somebody  sighed  heavily,  "  see 
how  the  royal  race  has  degenerated  !  " 

They  began  to  discuss  who  Peter  was  :  whether  a  Swede, 
a  foreigner,  or  Jew. 

"  The  devil  knows  who  he  is.  Whether  a  witch  has 
hatched  or  the  damp  bred  him,  one  thing  is  certain  :  he 
is  a  were- wolf,"  declared  the  sailor,  a  young  man  of  about 
thirty  years  old,  with  a  wide-awake,  intelligent  expression 
on  his  face,  once  probably  handsome,  now  disfigured  by  the 
branded  forehead  and  torn  nostrils. 

"  Ay  !  My  friends,  I  know,  I  know  positively  every- 
thing concerning  the  Tsar,"  replied  Vitalia  ;  "  I  learnt  from 
an  old  wandering  beggar  woman,  and  the  choristers  of  the 
Ascension  told  me  just  the  same.  When  our  Tsar,  the 
pious  Peter,  was  abroad  visiting  foreign  countries  he  came 
across  the  Glass  Kingdom  ;  this  Glass  Kingdom  is  ruled  by 
a  maiden,  who,  making  sport  of  him  forced  him  to  sit  on  a 
red  hot  tin,  and  then,  having  shut  him  up  in  a  barrel  with 
nails,  cast  him  into  the  sea." 


ANTICHRIST  55 

"  No,  not  in  a  barrel,  but  he  was  laid  in  a  trunk,"  some 
one  corrected. 

"  Well,  it  does  not  matter  whether  it  was  a  barrel  or  a 
trunk,  but  the  fact  remains  that  he  has  been  lost  ever  since, 
neither  seen  nor  heard  of.  And  in  his  stead  the  sea  vomited 
up  a  Jew  of  the  tribe  of  Dan,  born  of  an  ill-conditioned 
wench,  and  nobody  knew  him.  And  on  his  coming  to  Moscow 
he  began  to  do  as  a  Jew  would  ;  he  declined  the  Patriarch's 
blessing,  would  not  go  to  the  holy  relics  in  Moscow,  aware 
that  the  holy  place  would  refuse  his  approach.  Neither 
did  he  do  honour  to  the  tombs  of  former  pious  Tsars,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  they  were  strangers  to  him  and 
hateful  in  consequence.  He  saw  no  one  of  the  royal  family, 
neither  the  Tsaritsa  nor  the  Tsarevitch  nor  the  Tsarevenas, 
fearing  they  would  detect  him  and  say  :  "  You  don't 
belong  to  us,  you  are  not  the  Tsar,  but  a  cursed  Jew." 
He  did  not  show  himself  to  the  people  on  New  Year's  Day, 
fearing  detection,  just  as  Gregory  had  been  detected  by 
the  people  ;  he  does  not  keep  fast  days  nor  go  to  church, 
nor  does  he  wash  in  the  bath-house  on  Saturdays,  but  lives 
dissolutely  in  a  house  with  the  foreigners.  Nowadays  a 
foreigner  is  an  important  personage  in  Muscovy ;  the 
sorriest  foreigner  stands  higher  than  a  boyar,  higher  even 
than  the  Patriarch  himself.  He  himself,  the  cursed  Jew, 
publicly  dances  with  foreign  courtesans  ;  drinks  wine  not 
to  the  glory  of  God,  but  in  an  indecent  ugly  way,  like  a 
common  toper,  reeling  on  the  ground  and  using  bad  language 
when  drunk.  For  the  amusement  of  foreigners,  or,  more 
likely,  for  the  outraging  of  all  Christian  customs,  he  pub- 
licly calls  his  drink-companions  by  holy  names,  one,  the 
most  holy  Patriarch,  others  again.  Bishop  and  Arch- 
bishop, himself  Archdeacon,  thus  defiling  sacred  names  by 
applying  them  to  shameful  things." 

"  The  abomination  of  desolation,  predicted  by  Daniel, 
has  come  to  pass,"  concluded  Cornelius. 

Other  voices  from  the  crowd  chimed  in  : 

"  And  the  Tsaritsa  Eudoxia,  who  is  shut  up  in  the  Sousdal 
nunnery,  tells  "us  :  "  Have  patience,  keep  to  the  Christian 
faith,  this  is  not  my  Tsar — he  is  a  stranger." 

"  He  is  trying  his  best  to  make  the  Tsarevitch  imitate 
him,  but  he  can't  succeed  ;  and  that  is  why  the  Tsar 


56  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

wants  to  rid  himself  of  him,  and  prevent  his  coming  to 
the  throne." 

"  O  Lord,  Lord  !  what  a  trouble  God  has  sent — the 
father  rises  against  the  son,  the  son  against  his  father." 

"  What  father  is  he  to  him  !  The  Tsarevitch  himself 
says  this  man  is  neither  father  nor  Tsar  to  me." 

"  The  Tsar  loves  the  foreigners  ;  the  Tsarevitch  does  not 
love  foreigners  :  '  Give  me  time,'  says  he,  '  and  I  will  soon 
get  rid  of  them.'  A  foreigner  once  came  to  him  and  began 
to  talk  in  an  unknown  language.  The  Tsarevitch  burnt 
his  clothes  and  scorched  him  ;  the  foreigner  complained  to 
the  Tsar  ;  '  Why  do  you  go  to  him  ? '  was  the  answer, 
'while  I  live  you  will  be  unhurt.'  " 

"  This  is  so  !  they  all  say  when  our  Tsarevitch  comes 
to  the  throne  then  the  Tsar  and  his  company  will  have  to 
do  their  best  to  save  themselves." 

"  Truly,  truly,  it  is  so,"  affirmed  several  voices  cheerfully, 
"  the  Tsarevitch  dearly  loves  the  ancient  ways." 

"  A  righteous  man  !  " 

"  Russia's  Hope  !  " 

"  Many  old  women's  tales  pass  current  among  our  folk 
nowadays  ;  they  cannot  all  be  believed  or  trusted,"  began 
Ivan  Boudloff,  and  at  once  his  calm  matter  of  fact 
words  riveted  the  attention  of  the  whole  group.  "  But 
I  must  say,  be  he  Swede  or  foreigner  or  Jew  — the 
devil  knows  best — one  thing  is  certain,  ever  since  God 
sent  him  to  rule  over  us  we  have  seen  no  happy  days  ;  life 
has  become  hard  ;  there  is  no  peace.  Take  us  mariners 
and  soldiers.  It  is  fifteen  years  since  we  began  fighting  the 
Swede,  we  have  not  disgraced  ourselves  anywhere,  but 
have  shed  our  blood  freely ;  and  yet  to  this  day  we  see  no 
peace.  Summer  and  autumn  we  are  sent  to  roam  on  The 
seas,  the  winter  is  spent  among  rocks,  we  are  dying  of  sheer 
hunger.  And  the  country  is  ruined  to  such  an  extent  that 
in  some  places  not  even  a  sheep  remains  to  the  peasant. 
They  say  :  '  A  clever  head,  a  clever  head.'  If  he  were 
clever,  he  would  be  able  to  understand  his  people's  needs. 
Where  does  he  show  his  cleverness  ?  He  gave  us  a  proof 
in  his  civic  laws,  the  institution  of  the  Senate.  Yet  what 
good  comes  of  it  ?  Not  only  more  wages  are  wanted  ;  but 
ask  the  people  with  law-suits  if  any  one  of  them  has  been 


ANTICHRIST  57 

promptly  attended  to Ah  !   what  is  the  use  of  talking  ? 

The  whole  nation  is  outraged.  He  so  arranges  matters  as 
to  drag  the  last  bit  of  Christianity  from  our  souls,  the  last 
bit  of  life  from  our  bodies.  How  is  it  that  God  tolerates 
so  much  cruelty  ?  But  this  is  not  happening  in  vain  ;  a 
change  will  come,  sooner  or  later,  the  blood  will  come  over 
them." 

Suddenly  one  of  the  audience  who  had  remained  silent 
all  this  while,  a  woman  named  Elena  with  a  simple,  kind 
face,  started  defending  the  Tsar.  "  We  don't  know  how 
to  express  it,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  to  herself, 
"  but  we  continually  pray — O  Lord,  bring  the  Tsar  back 
to  our  Christian  faith  !  " 

Her  timid  attempt  was  silenced  however,  by  indignant 
voices  crying  : — 

"  He  is  no  Tsar  !  only  a  mock-Tsar ;  he  has  squandered 
himself,  goes  about  as  if  beside  himself." 

"  He  has  become  quite  a  Jew,  he  can  no  longer  live  with- 
out a  sip  of  blood  from  time  to  time.  The  day  he  drinks 
blood,  that  day  he  is  content  and  merry,  but  the  day  he 
gets  none  he  can  neither  eat  nor  drink." 

"  Glutton  !  he  will  have  eaten  everybody  soon,  for  him- 
self there  is  no  extermination." 

"  May  the  earth  engulph  him  !  " 

"  Fools  !  Curs  !  "  interposed  with  fury  the  gunner  Alexis 
Furlong,  a  red-haired  man  of  huge  height,  with  a  face  now 
suggesting  a  beast,  now  a  child,  "  fools,  for  not  knowing 
how  to  defend  yourselves  !  All  of  you  are  doomed  soul  and 
body  ;  you  will  be  mashed  up  like  worms  in  a  cabbage. 
As  for  me  nothing  would  please  me  better  than  to  cut  him 
up  into  little  bits.' 

Elena  weakly  sighed  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  ; 
these  words,  she  confessed  afterwards,  made  her  feel  hot 
all  over.  The  others  looked  with  terror  at  Alexis,  while 
he,  fixing  his  blood-shot  eyes  on  one  spot,  and  clenching 
his  fist,  added  slowly  as  if  lost  in  thought, — and  there  was 
something  yet  more  terrible  in  this  measured  tone  than  in 
his  fury  : — 

"  I  am  surprised  that  no  one  has  finished  him  off  before 
now.  He  is  always  about  alone.  There  are  plenty  of 
chances  to  cut  him  up  half  a  dozen  times  over." 


58  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Elena  grew  pale,  she  wanted  to  say  something,  but  her 
moving  lips  could  not  articulate  a  sound. 

"  Thrice  have  there  been  attempts  to  kill  the  Tsar," 
said  Cornelius,  "  but  every  time  has  failed  :  evil  spirits 
attend  and  protect  him." 

A  fair,  puny  soldier,  with  an  idiotic,  haggard,  sickly  face, 
quite  a  boy,  a  deserter  named  Petka  Jisla,  began  to  talk 
hurriedly,  stuttering  and  sobbing  like  an  infant.  He 
told  them  that  three  ships  had  brought  branding-irons 
from  abroad  to  brand  people  with.  Strict  watch  was 
kept  over  them,  nobody  was  allowed  near  ;  sentinels  being 
stationed  by  them  on  the  Cotline  island. 

These  were  the  new  recruit  marks  introduced  by  Peter, 
about  which  the  Tsar  wrote  in  17 12  to  the  general  pleni- 
potentiary Prince  James  Dolgoruki  : — "  to  mark  recruits, 
prick  a  cross  with  the  needle  on  the  left  hand  and  rub  in 
powder." 

"  The  marked  men  receive  bread,  those  who  have  no  marks 
go  without,  no  matter  if  they  starve.  Ah !  brethren, 
brethren,  it  is  a  sorry  business." 

"  Famine  will  bring  us  all  unto  the  son  of  perdition  to 
worship  him,"  affirmed  Cornelius. 

"  Some  have  been  already  marked,"  continued  Petka, 
"  I  among  them,  lost  man  that  I  am." 

With  evident  difficulty  he  lifted  with  his  right  hand  the 
left  which  hung  powerless  at  his  side,  brought  it  to  the 
light,  and  showed  the  recruiting  mark,  stamped  with  the 
government  stamp. 

"  When  stamped,  the  hand  at  once  began  to  wither,  first 
the  left  only,  now  the  right  has  began  ;  try  as  I  may  to  raise 
and  bless  myself  with  it,  I  cannot." 

His  companions  looked  terror-stricken  at  the  dark  spot, 
which  seemed  like  a  number  of  pock  marks  on  the  pale 
yellow,  withered,  lifeless  hand.  This  was  the  human  brand, 
the  black  cross  of  the  crown. 

"  That  is  it,  quite  right,"  declared  Cornelius,  "  the  sign 
of  Antichrist.  It  is  written  :  '  he  will  mark  them  on  the 
hand,  he,  who  receives  this  mark,  will  lose  the  power  to 
bless  himself  with  the  sign  of  the  cross  ;  yet  his  hand  will 
be  paralyzed  not  by  chains,  but  by  an  oath,  and  no  repent- 
ance shall  be  granted  unto  such.'  " 


ANTICHRIST  59 

"  Brethren  !  brethren  !  what  have  they  done  unto  me  ? 
Had  I  but  known  in  time  they  should  never  have  had  me 
ahve.  They  have  spoilt  a  human  body ;  marked  a  man 
like  cattle."  Petka  sobbed  convulsively,  and  large  tears 
rolled  down  his  childish  pathetic  face. 

"  Friends,"  ejaculated  Kilikaya,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden 
thought,  "  all  this  seems  to  point  to  one  fact,  that  our 
Tsar  Peter  is  himself  the  " 

She  did  not  finish,  the  terrible  word  seemed  to  die  on 
her  lips. 

"  And  what  did  you  think  ?  "  Cornelius  looked  at  her 
with  his  little  sharp  piercing  eyes.  "He  is  that  very  one 
Himself." 

"  No,  never  fear,  the  veritable  one  has  not  yet  appeared. 
He  might  be  his  forerunner,"  tried  to  put  in  Dokoukin. 
But  Cornelius  stood  up,  the  chain  of  iron  crosses  clanking  ; 
he  lifted  his  hand,  raised  his  two  fingers  in  the  "  schismatic  " 
way,  and  triumphantly  announced  : — 

"  Listen  ye  Orthodox,  this  is  He  who  reigns,  who  has  had 
dominion  over  you  since  the  year  1666,  the  year  of  the 
Beast.  In  the  beginning,  the  Tsar  Alexis  together  with 
the  Patriarch  Nikon  renounced  the  faith,  and  in  so  doing 
became  the  forerunner  of  the  Beast.  Now  following  in  their 
footsteps  Tsar  Peter  has  finally  uprooted  all  piety  ;  he  has 
annihilated  the  Patriarchate  ;  claimed  the  Church  and 
divine  power,  and,  against  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  has 
declared  himself  supreme  head  of  the  Church,  the  absolute 
pastor.  And  vieing  with  the  supremacy  of  Christ,  about 
whom  it  is  written  : — '  I  am  the  first  and  the  last,'  he 
called  himself  Peter  the  First.  In  the  year  1700,  on  the 
first  day  of  January,  the  new  year's  day  of  the  ancient 
Roman  god  Janus,  at  a  firework  entertainment  he  pro- 
claimed on  a  screen — '  My  time  has  now  come.'  And 
he  assumed  unto  himself  the  name  of  Christ,  in  the  hymn 
sung  at  church  in  memory  of  the  Poltava  victory  over 
the  Swedes.  And  on  his  return  to  Moscow,  he  had  young 
children  in  white  robes  placed  on  triumphal  arches  and 
taking  part  in  the  procession,  to  glorify  him  and  sing, 
"  Blessed  is  he  who  cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  Hosanna 
in  the  highest.  Lord  God  appear  to  us  !  " — as  by  God's  will, 
the  Jewish  children  had  praised  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  on 


6o  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

his  entry  into  Jerusalem.  Thus  by  his  title  he  had  elevated 
himself  above  every  Name  of  God.  For  it  has  been  said  : 
under  the  name  of  Simon  Peter  there  will  appear  in  Rome 
the  proud  prince  of  this  world,  Antichrist,  and  in  Russia, 
which  is  the  third  Rome,  that  Peter  has  appeared  who  is 
the  son  of  darkness,  the  blasphemer  and  enemy  of  God, 
that  is  Antichrist.  And  as  it  is  written  :  in  all  things  will 
the  false  prophet  strive  to  resemble  the  Son  of  God,  so  also 
does  the  aforesaid  Peter,  glorifying  himself,  say  :  '  I 
am  a  father  to  the  fatherless,  a  shelter  for  the  wandering, 
a  helper  to  those  in  trouble,  a  defence  to  the  oppressed  '  ; 
he  has  built  hospitals  for  the  sick  and  the  aged  ;  schools 
for  the  young  ;  the  simple  and  ignorant  Russian  people 
he  has  in  a  short  time  made  shrewd  and  clever,  and  in  all 
knowledge  equal  to  other  European  nations.  He  has  ex- 
panded the  Empire,  he  has  reinstated  what  was  stolen, 
restored  what  had  fallen  to  ruins,  glorified  what  had  been 
humbled,  renewed  the  old ;  he  has  roused  those  sleeping 
in  ignorance ;  and  has  created  what  was  not.  '  I  am  gra- 
cious, meek,  and  merciful.  Come  unto  me,  and  worship 
me,  the  living  and  Almighty  God,  for  I  am  God,  there  is 
none  other  God  but  me.'  Thus  the  Beast  feigns  goodness  ; 
he  about  whom  it  is  written,  '  That  Beast  is  terrible  and 
is  like  unto  none.'  Thus  a  cruel  wolf,  masked  under  a 
sheep-skin,  will  one  day  spring  forth  and  swallow  everyone. 
Listen  then,  ye  Orthodox,  to  the  word  of  the  prophet  : 
Go,  go  forth,  go  forth  from  Babylon,  oh  !  my  people  and 
save  yourselves,  for  there  is  no  salvation  in  cities  for  the 
living  ;  flee,  persecuted  faithful  ones,  who  have  no  present 
abode,  but  are  seeking  the  Coming.  Flee  into  the  woods, 
the  deserts,  hide  your  heads  under  the  earth,  in  hills  and 
caverns,  in  the  earth's  abysses  ;  for  brethren  you  yourselves 
see,  that  we  have  reached  the  utmost  evil.  Antichrist 
himself  has  come,  and  with  him  the  world  is  ending.    Amen." 

He  finished.  A  blinding  flash  of  lightning  suddenly  lit 
up  the  man  from  head  to  foot,  and  to  those  who  were 
looking  at  him,  the  small  man  seemed  almost  a  giant  in 
this  glare,  and  the  roll  of  the  dull,  as  if  subterranean  thunder, 
seemed  to  be  the  echo  of  his  words,  which  had  filled  heaven 
and  earth. 

He  finished,  and  all  around  him  remained  silent.     Again 


ANTICHRIST  6i 

was  heard  the  dreamy  ripple  of  the  stream  under  the  logs, 
and  the  languid  melancholy  song  of  Ivan  wafted  across  from 
the  other  end  of  the  raft  : — 

Ye  hoUowe  1  oak  trunks,  ye  will  prove 

Fit  hoase  for  us  who  on  earth  did  move. 

Night  approacheth,  endeth  day. 

And  Death  his  scythe  doth  lay 

To  the  root  of  all  tuat  live.      .      .     . 

The  song  made  the  silence  only  more  intense,  more  awful- 
Suddenly,  with  a  rumbling  and  a  hiss,  up  soared  a  rocket, 
dissolving  in  the  dark  vault  into  a  rain  of  irridescent  stars. 
The  Neva  reflecting  them  doubled  their  number  in  her 
black  mirror.  Fireworks  flared,  screens  with  transparent 
pictures  were  lit,  fiery  wheels  began  to  whirl,  fountains  of 
fire  surged  forth,  and  halls  appeared,  resembling  a  temple 
of  white  sunlike  flame.  And  from  the  ^  avilion  over- 
looking the  Neva,  where  the  Goddess  already  stood,  along 
the  smooth  surface  of  the  waters,  came  the  cry  of  the 
revellers — "  Vivat  !  Vivat  !  Vivat  !  Peter  the  Great ! 
Father  of  his  country  !  Emperor  of  all  the  Russians  ! " 
and  music  rang  forth  in  the  air. 

"  This,  brethren,  is  the  last  of  the  signs,"  exclaimed 
Cornelius,  pointing  with  his  outstretched  arm  to  the  rocket. 
"  As  St.  Hippolitus  testifies  :  '  Antichrist  will  be  glorified, 
praised  by  sundry  songs  and  many  voices  and  loud  crying. 
And  a  light  greater  than  all  lights  will  surround  him,  the 
master  of  darkness.  Night  will  be  changed  into  day,  and 
day  into  night  ;  the  sun  and  the  moon  will  become  red  as 
blood,  and  he  will  take  the  fire  away  from  the  heavens." 

In  the  centre  of  the  luminous  hall  appeared  the  statue 
of  Peter  the  Sculptor  of  Russia,  in  the  image  of  the  Titan 
Prometheus. 

"  And  all  will  fall  down  before  him,"  concluded 
Cornelius,  "  and  exclaim  '  Vivat  !  Vivat  !  Vivat  !  who 
is  like  unto  the  Beast  ?  who  is  able  to  make  war  with 
him  ;   he  has  brought  us  fire  from  the  heavens !  '  " 

Nearly  all  on  the  raft  watched  the  fireworks  terror- 
stricken.  And  when,  shrouded  in  clouds  of  smoke,  illu- 
mined by  many  coloured  bengal-lights,  there  appeared 
the  sea  monster,  with  prickly  fins  and  wings  and  tail  covered 
with   scales,   floating   along   the   Neva   from    the   fortress 


62  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

towards  the  Summer  Garden,  they  deemed  this  to  be  the 
Beast,  coming  up  out  of  the  depths,  as  predicted  in  the 
book  of  Revelation.  Every  moment  they  expected  to 
see  Antichrist  coming  towards  them  on  the  water,  or  flying 
through  the  air  on  wings  of  fire,  amidst  thunder  and  hght- 
ning,  and  armies  of  evil  spirits  with  him. 

"  Friends,  friends,"  sobbed  Petka,  trembling  like  a 
leaf,  and  his  teeth  chattering,  "  I  feel  frightened ;  we  speak 
about  him,  but  is  he  himself  not  somewhere  close  by  ? 
See  how  we  are  all  troubled  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  you  get  all  this  old  woman's  fear. 
Ram  a  pike  down  his  throat,  and  that'll  finish  him,"  boast- 
ingly  began  Furlong  ;  but  he  too  grew  pale,  and  began 
to  quake  when  Kilikeya,  who  was  sitting  next  to  him, 
suddenly  called  out  in  a  piercing  voice,  fell  on  the  ground, 
twisting  her  body  in  convulsions,   and  began   to  shriek. 

Kilikeya  had  been  injured  in  her  childhood.  Once,  so 
she  herself  was  wont  to  relate,  her  stepmother  had  poured 
out  some  soup  in  a  wooden  bowl,  and  passed  it  to  her  to 
eat — reviling  her  at  the  same  time,  saying,  "  there,  sup  it 
up,  the  devil  be  with  you,"  and  three  weeks  later  she  fell 
ill,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  something  had  begun  to  growl 
audibly  within  her,  like  a  dog,  so  that  everybody  could  hear 
it.  And  really  an  evil  spirit  did  seem  to  growl  with 
human  and  animal  voices  within  her.  She  had  been  im- 
prisoned according  to  the  Tsar's  law,  concerning  such  ner- 
vous women ;  she  had  been  questioned,  judged,  even  whipped. 
She  had  signed  promises,  not  to  call  out  again  under  pain 
of  punishment  with  the  lash  or  of  being  convicted  to  life- 
long labour  in  the  weaving  mill.  Yet  lashes  could  not 
cast  out  demons,  and  she  continued  to  have  fits. 

Kilikeya  moaned  :  "  I  feel  sick,  so  sick,"  and  then  she 
would  laugh,  and  cry,  and  bark  like  a  dog  and  bleat  like 
a  sheep,  and  croak  like  a  frog,  grunt  like  a  pig,  and  many 
other  animals  did  she  imitate. 

The  watch  dog,  which  lived  on  the  raft,  roused  by  these 
unwonted  sounds  came  out  of  its  kennel  :  a  hungry,  lean 
cur,  with  sunken  flanks  and  prominent  ribs  ;  it  walked  up 
to  the  edge  of  the  raft,  and  paused  at  the  side  of  Ivan, 
who  continued  to  chant,  neither  seeing  nor  hearing  anything 
around  him,  and  the  dog  lifting  its  muzzle  into  the  air. 


ANTICHRIST  63 

its  tail  between  its  legs,  howled  piteously  at  the  fireworks. 
The  howl  of  the  dog  and  the  howl  of  the  sick  woman  blended 
into  one. 

They  poured  water  on  Kil'keya.  Cornelius  bending 
over  her,  was  reciting  incantations  for  the  driving  out  of 
demons,  blowing  and  spitting  on  her  face,  and  lashing  it  with 
his  leather  thong.  At  last  she  grew  calmer,  and  fell  into  a 
heavy  swoonlike  slumber.  The  fireworks  had  died  away. 
The  embers  of  the  fire  were  faintly  glowing ;  darkness 
reigned  once  more.  Nothing  had  happened  ;  Antichrist 
had  not  appeared  ;  the  fear  had  passed  away.  Yet  the 
distress  they  all  felt  was  more  terrible  than  any  fear.  They 
sat  as  before  on  the  low  raft,  whose  black  outlines  scarcely 
stood  out  against  the  dark  water  and  the  black  heavens  ; 
their  little  group,  lonely  and  forlorn,  suspended  as  it  were, 
somewhere  in  space  twixt  the  two  skies.  All  was  quiet, 
the  raft  motionless,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  them,  they  were 
being  precipitated  into  and  were  sinking  down,  engulphed 
in  this  gloom,  as  in  some  yawning  black  abyss,  the  jaws 
of  the  Beast  itself,  the  inevitable  end  of  all  things.  And 
into  this  black  oppressive  darkness,  luminous  with  the  blue 
tremulous  heat-lightning,  floated  from  the  Summer  Garden 
the  music  of  the  minuet,  tender  as  the  languid  sighs  of  the 
kingdom  of  Venus,  where  the  shepherd  Daphnis  loosens 
the  girdle  of  Chloe, 

'Tis  time  to  cast  thy  bow  away, 

Cupid,  we  all  are,  in  thy  sway. 

Thy  golden  love-awaking  dart 

Hath  reached  and  wounded  every  heart  ! 


CHAPTER    II 

ON  the  Neva,  near  the  rafts  of  the  Tsarevitch,  stood 
a  large  barge,  which  had  come  from  Archangel, 
laden  with  Holmogorian  pottery.  Her  owner,  the  rich 
merchant  Pooshnikoff,  belonging  to  the  heretics  of  the 
sea  coast,  gave  shelter  in  his  barge  to  deserters  of  the  old 
faith,  who  were  obliged  to  be  in  hiding.  The  space  between 
the  decks  and  the  poop  was  divided  up  into  little  cells. 
In  one  of  these  Elena  had  found  shelter. 

Elena  was  a  peasant  woman,  the  wife  of  a  foreman  in 
the  Moscow  Mint,  Maxim  Yeremeyeff,  a  secret  iconoclast. 
When  the  leader  of  the  iconoclasts,  the  barber  Thomas, 
was  burnt,  Maxim  fled  to  the  southern  towns,  leaving  his 
wife  behind.  It  was  difficult  to  decide  whether  she  her- 
self was  a  heretic  or  an  Orthodox,  for  she  crossed  herself 
with  two  fingers  after  the  advice  of  some  old  man  who  used 
to  visit  her,  saying  :  "  thou  canst  not  move  God  with  three 
fingers,"  while  yet  frequenting  Orthodox  Churches  and 
confessing  to  Orthodox  priests.  Notwithstanding  the  ter- 
rible rumours  about  Peter,  Elena  believed  he  was  the  true 
Russian  Tsar  and  loved  him.  She  prayed  that  she  might 
be  allowed  to  behold  his  Majesty,  and  for  this  reason  she 
had  come  to  Petersburg.  One  thought  only  possessed  her  : 
that  God  might  grant  the  Tsar  repentance,  bring  him  back 
to  his  father's  faith,  make  him  cease  from  persecuting  the 
people  of  the  old  faith,  and  thus  give  them,  in  their  turn,  a 
chance  of  joining  the  Orthodox  church.  Elena  had  com- 
posed a  special  prayer  for  the  unification  of  the  church, 
which  she  meant  to  have  shown  to  her  confessor,  but  could 
not  find  the  courage,  as  it  seemed  so  badly  written.     She 


ANTICHRIST  65 

visited  monasteries,  she  engaged  an  old  woman  for  six 
weeks  to  read  the  acathistus  for  the  Tsar  at  the  Ascension 
church  and  at  another  deaicated  to  the  Virgin  of  Kazan. 
She  herself  would  kneel  two  or  three  thousand  timies  a  day 
for  him.  But  all  this  did  not  seem  sufficient  for  her,  and  she 
resolved  on  a  last  desperate  remedy.  She  made  her  nephew 
Vassia,  a  lad  of  fourteen,  write  out  the  prayer  she  had 
composed  for  the  Tsar  and  the  uniting  of  the  church,  sewed 
a  cover  for  an  icon, and  putting  the  prayer  in  the  lining, 
gave  it  to  a  priest  in  the  Church  of  the  Assumption, 
making  no  mention  of  the  hidden  letter. 

After  the  conversation  on  the  raft,  Elena  returned  to  her 
cell  on  the  barge,  and  when  she  recalled  all  she  had  heard 
that  night  about  the  Tsar,  she  for  the  first  time  asked  her- 
self whether  after  all  it  was  not  true,  that  God  could  not  be 
moved  for  such  a  Tsar. 

For  a  long  time  she  lay  motionless  in  the  oppressive 
darkness  of  her  cabin  cell,  her  eyes  wide  open,  bathed  in 
cold  sweat.  At  last  she  got  up,  lit  a  remnant  of  a  wax 
church  taper  and  placed  it  in  the  corner  of  the  closet  before 
the  icon  of  the  Virgin,  hung  on  the  wooden  partition.  It 
was  the  same  Virgin  whom  Peter  had  been  exhibiting  at  the 
foot  of  Venus.  She  knelt,  bowed  to  the  ground  three 
hundred  times  and  began  to  recite  with  tears  and  sighs 
that  same  forlorn  prayer,  now  sewn  into  the  cover  of  the 
icon,  at  the  church  of  the  Assumption. 

"  Hear  me,  thou  Holy  Church,  with  all  the  hosts  of  Cheru- 
bim and  Seraphim,  with  all  the  companies  of  prophets, 
patriarchs,  saints  and  martyrs,  the  Gospels,  and  all  the 
sacred  words  that  compose  the  Gospel,  remember  ye  our 
Tsar  Peter  !  Hear  me,  Holy  Apostolic  Church,  together 
with  all  local  images  and  little  icons,  with  all  apostolic 
books  and  holy  lamps,  the  censers  and  candles,  the  sacred 
coverings  and  goodly  palls,  the  stone  walls  and  iron  slabs, 
all  fruitful  trees  and  flowers  !  I  implore  thee,  bea  tiful  sun, 
pray  thou  the  Lord  for  our  Tsar  Peter,  and  thou  young 
moon  with  thy  stars  !  O  sky  and  thy  mists  !  O  terrible 
clouds  and  stormy  winds  and  breezes  !  O  fowls  of  the  air  ! 
blue  sea,  great  rivers,  small  brooks  and  lakes  !  pray  ye  the 
heavenly  King  for  our  Tsar  Peter  !  Fish  of  the  sea,  cattle 
in  the  fields,  beasts  of  the  wood,  meadows,  forests,  moun- 

E 


66  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

tains  all  the  earth's  increase,  pray  ye  the  heavenly  King  for 
our  Tsar  Peter  !  " 

*  *  *  * 

A  thin  partition  separated  Elena's  closet  from  a  more 
spacious  cell  occupied  by  Cornelius  and  his  disciple  Tichon. 
Not  a  word  did  Tichon  say  during  the  conversation  on  the 
raft,  yet  he  had  followed  it  with  greater  interest  than  any 
one  else.  When  the  group  had  dispersed,  Cornelius  went 
ashore  to  confer  with  some  other  heretics  about  the  ap- 
proaching great  self-burning,  "  the  Red  Death,"  of  thou- 
sands of  persecuted  people  belonging  to  the  old  faith  ;  a 
rite  which  was  to  take  place  in  the  woods  beyond  the  Volga. 
Tichon  had  returned  to  his  floating  cell  alone,  and  had  gone 
to  bed.  Yet  like  Elena  in  the  adjacent  compartment,  he 
could  not  sleep,  but  kept  thinking  over  what  he  had  heard 
that  night  about  the  Tsar.  He  felt  that  his  future  hung  on 
these  thoughts,  that  the  moment  was  approaching  which, 
like  a  sword,  would  cleave  his  life  in  twain.  "  It  seems  now 
as  though  I  were  on  a  knife's  edge."  he  said  to  himself, 
"  on  whichever  side  I  fall,  in  that  direction  will  I  go." 

Together  with  thoughts  about  the  future  rose  memories 
of  the  past. 

Who  W£LS  this  Tichon  ? 

Tichon  was  the  only  son,  the  last  offspring  of  the  once 
noble  family  of  the  princes  Zapolsky,  long  since  fallen  into 
disgrace  and  poverty.  His  mother  died  at  his  birth,  his 
father,  a  leader  of  the  Streltsy,  took  part  in  the  mutiny 
against  Peter,  supporting  the  Miloslavskis,  ancient  Russia 
and  the  old  faith.  During  the  terrible  trial  of  1698  he 
was  sentenced,  tortured  in  Preobrazhensky  torture  cham- 
ber, and  then  executed  on  the  Red  Square  in  the  Kremhn. 
All  his  other  relatives  and  friends  were  also  executed  or 
banished.  The  orphaned  Tichon,  but  eight  years  old, 
remained  in  the  charge  of  his  attendant,  Yemelian  Paho- 
mitcb.  The  child  was  weak  and  puny,  and  suffered  from 
fits  like  one  "  possessed."  He  loved  his  father  with  passion- 
ate tenderness.  Anxious  for  the  boy's  health,  Pahomitch 
kept  from  him  the  knowledge  of  his  father's  death,  by  telling 
Tichon  that  his  father  had  gone  away  on  business  to  his 
distant  patrimony  in  the  Saratoff  government.  But  the 
child  cried  and  pined,  and  glided  like  a  shadow  about 
the  large  empty  house,  his  heart  foreboding  some  calamity. 


ANTICHRIST  67 

At  last  he  could  bear  it  no  longer.  One  day,  having  again 
vainly  sought  to  learn  the  truth,  he  ran  out  of  the  house  by 
himself,  hoping  to  reach  the  Kremlin  where  an  uncle  of  his 
lived,  and  to  ask  him  about  his  father.  The  uncle  was, 
however,  no  longer  alive  ;  he  had  been  executed  at  the  same 
time  as  Tichon's  father. 

At  the  Spasski  gate  the  boy  met  large  carts  laden  with 
corpses  of  the  executed  Streltsy,  thrown  together  anyhow, 
half  naked.  Like  slaughtered  cattle,  fresh  from  the  slaugh- 
terhouse, they  were  taken  to  a  common  grave,  the  refuse  pit, 
and  there  buried  together  with  filth  and  carrion,  by  the 
express  order  of  the  Tsar.  Beams  stuck  out  from  the 
walls  of  the  Kremlin,  on  which  numerous  bodies  hung  like 
"  Polti,"  a  salt  Astrachan  fish  which  is  hung  in  bundles 
to  dry  in  the  sun. 

The  people  all  day  long  silently  crowded  the  Red  Square, 
not  daring  to  come  near  the  place  of  execution,  but  looking 
on  from  afar.  Making  his  way  through  the  crowd,  Tichon 
perceived  near  the  Lobnoye  place  some  long  thick  logs 
surrounded  by  pools  of  congealed  blood.  These  served  for 
the  executioners'  blocks.  The  victims  crowding  against 
one  another,  as  many  as  thirty  men  at  once,  would  lay 
their  heads  on  the  logs  in  rows.  While  the  Tsar  was  drink- 
ing in  a  hall  with  windows  overlooking  the  '  quare,  his 
boyars,  fools  and  favourites  were  chopping  off  heads.  Once 
the  Tsar,  dissatisfied  with  the  way  they  did  their  work — the 
hands  of  the  inexperienced  headsmen  were  trembling — • 
ordered  twenty  of  the  victims  to  be  brought  to  his  ban- 
queting table,  and  there  slew  them  with  his  own  hands 
to  the  accompaniment  of  jeers  and  music.  He  drank  a 
glass  of  wine,  chopped  off  a  head ;  glass  after  glass,  head 
^fter  head.     Wine  and  blood  flowed  together. 

Tichon  saw  the  gallows  erected  in  the  shape  of  a  cros? 
for  the  mutinous  Streltsy  priests.  The  hangman  was 
Nikita  Zotoff,  the  mock  patriarch.  A  great  number  of 
wheels  with  the  mutilated  bodies  still  hanging  to  them  ; 
iron  spikes  and  stakes  with  half  putrefied  heads.  The 
Tsar's  command  forbade  their  being  taken  off  till  they  had 
completely  rotted.  The  air  was  one  awful  stench.  Crows 
hovered  over  the  place  in  large  flocks. 

The  boy  fixed  his  eyes  on  one  of  the  heads.     It  stood  out 


68  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

black  against  the  transparent  azure  of  the  sky,  all  strewn 
with  cloudlets  of  delicate  rose  and  golden  hue  ;  while 
further  off,  the  domes  of  the  Kremlin  churches  glowed  like 
living  embers.  The  evening  bell  rang  out  in  the  still  air. 
Suddenly  Tichon  felt  the  sky,  the  domes,  the  very  earth  go 
from  under  his  feet,  while  he  himself  was  falling  into  some 
bottomless  abyss  :  he  had  recognized  his  father's  face  in 
that  head  with  black  sockets  for  eyes. 

The  drum  rolled,  a  division  of  the  Preobrazhensky  regi- 
ment came  round  the  corner  ;  it  accompanied  carts  with 
fresh  victims.  The  condemned  sat  in  white  shirts  with 
calm  faces,  holding  lighted  tapers  in  their  hands.  A  tall 
man  on  horseback  rode  in  front  of  them.  His  face  too 
was  calm,  yet  terrible.  This  was  Peter.  Tichon  had 
never  seen  him  before,  but  he  at  once  recognized  him,  and 
it  seemed  to  the  child  that  the  dead  head  of  his  father  with 
its  blank  eye-sock  ts  was  looking  straight  into  the  Tsar's 
eyes.  The  next  moment  he  swooned.  The  crowd  falling 
back  in  terror  would  have  crushed  the  boy,  had  not  an  old 
man  noticed  him.  This  man,  an  old  friend  of  Paho- 
mitch,  a  certain  Gregory  of  Tahtsa,  hfted  him  and  up  carried 
him  home.  In  the  night  Tichon  had  a  fit  such  as  he  never 
had  before.     It  was  a  wonder  he  survived. 

This  Gregory  of  Talitsa.  a  poor  unknown  scribe,  who 
lived  by  copying  books  and  manuscripts,  was  one  of  the 
first  to  prove  that  Tsar  Peter  was  the  Antichrist.  This 
was  the  charge  brought  against  him  at  his  trial,  "  that 
prompted  by  too  great  a  zeal  against  Antichrist,  and  a  doubt- 
ful heretic  fear,  he  began  to  spread  among  the  people  evil 
words  of  blame  and  slander  against  the  Tsar."  Having 
compiled  booklets  about  the  "  coming  of  Antichrist,"  and 
"the  end  of  the  world,"  he  thought  of  printing  and  freely 
distril)uting  them  among  the  people,  in  order  to  rouse  them 
against  the  Tsar.  Gregory  often  used  to  visit  Pahomitch 
and  talk  with  him  about  the  Tsar,  the  Antichrist,  and  the 
last  days.  The  monk  Cornelius,  who  was  living  in  Moscow 
at  that  time,  took  part  in  these  conversations.  Young 
Tichon  used  to  listen  to  these  old  men,  who,  Hke  three 
illboding  crows,  would  collect  at  dusk  in  the  empty  house 
and  caw  :  "  the  end  of  the  world  is  drawing  nigh  ;  hard 
times,  evil  years  have  come  ;  true  faith,  the  stone  wall,  the 


ANTICHRIST  69 

strong  pillar  of  Christ,  has  disappeared — Christianity  has 
perished.  Antichrist  will  come  at  the  comsummation  of 
time  ;  the  whole  world  will  be  set  on  fire  and  burn  sixty 
ells  deep  into  its  crust,  because  of  our  great  transgres- 
sions." And  then  they  would  relate  a  vision  of  "  some  vile 
serpent,  which  creeps  and  wriggles  about,  hanging  down 
from  the  archdeacon's  shoulder  instead  of  the  holy  stole 
during  the  service  in  a  Niconian  church  ;  or  at  night,  coil- 
ing round  the  walls  of  the  Tsar's  dwelling,  slips  its  head 
inside,  and  whispers  into  the  Tsar's  ear."  These  melan- 
choly conversations  would  pass  into  still  more  melancholy 
songs  : 

Chxist,   the  heaven's  eternal  King, 

Whose  glory  through  the  world  doth  ring. 

Bids  us,  his  beloved  people. 

In  lone  deserts,   shady  caves. 

Darksome  forests,   refuge  take  ; 

Bury  deep  ourselves  in  sand, 

Strewn  with  ashes  walk  the  land. 

Die  in  hope  and  never  fear, 

For  God's  kingdom  draweth  near  ! 

Tichon  listened  with  special  eagerness  to  tales  about  the 
secret  settlements,  amid  dark  forests  and  bogs  beyond  the 
Volga,  and  about  the  legendary  and  invisible  city — Kitesh 
on  the  Lake  of  Light.  The  site  of  the  city  appeared  to  be 
a  lonely  wood  ;  yet  there  were  churches,  houses,  monasteries, 
and  numbers  of  people.  In  summer  church  bells  are  heard 
at  night  ringing  on  the  lake's  surface  and  the  clear  waters 
reflect  the  golden  domes  of  the  churches.  There  the  true 
kingdom  on  earth  is,  in  peace,  quiet  and  eternal  joy  ; 
holy  fathers  have  flourished  there,  like  lilies,  cypresses  and 
da^e  palms,  like  pearls  and  heavenly  stars.  From  their 
hps  unceasing  prayer  to  God  rises  Hke  the  breath  of 
sweet-scented  thyme  and  choice  incense,  and  at  night 
their  prayer  is  visible  like  fiery  sparkling  pillars,  and 
the  Hght  is  so  strong  that  it  is  possible  to  read  and 
write  without  a  candle.  God  loves  and  cherishes  them 
as  the  apple  of  His  eye,  and  His  invisible  hand  is  ever 
over  them.  And  they  shall  experience  neither  sorrow  nor 
affliction  from  the  Beast ;  only  for  us  sinners  do  they 
grieve  da}'  and  night  for  our  apostasy  and   Russia's,  and 


70  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

for  the  dominion  of  Antichrist  over  us.  One  road  only 
leads  to  this  invisible  city.  It  is  narrow,  surrounded  by 
all  sorts  of  wonders  and  terrors,  and  winds  among  thickets, 
through  woody  dales,  and  no  one  can  find  it,  except  those 
whom  God  Himself  leads  to  this  serenely  quiet  refuge. 
Listening  to  the  tales,  Tichon  longed  to  be  in  these  dark 
forests  and  lone  deserts.  With  inexpressibly  sweet  melan- 
choly would  he  repeat  after  Pahomitch  the  poem  about 
prince  Joseph,  the  young  hermit  : — 

Fair  solitude  !  my  heart's  desire. 

Through  forest  and  mire, 

Over  hill,  dale,  and  peak, 

Will  I  wander  and  seek 

A  place  for  my  hut. 

Thou  emerald  vault, 

Under  thee  will  I  roam 

To  full  heart's  delight. 

Thy  cuckoo's  call 

Shall  teach  me  all, 

Dry  roots  will  be 

Eden's  food  for  me. 

Thy  sparkling  springs 

Mine  only  drink. 

From  earliest  childhood  Tichon  was  subject  to  a  strange 
sensation,  quite  unlike  anything  else ;  a  feeling  of  almost 
painful  anguish,  coupled  with  a  delicious  sweetness  :  it 
seemed  ever  new,  yet  ever  familiar,  and  generally  inti- 
mated the  approach  of  a  fit.  Terror  and  surprise  mingled 
with  a  reminiscence  as  from  some  other  world,  but  the 
prevalent  elements  were  curiosity  and  expectation,  and  a 
desire,  that  what  was  about  to  happen  should  happen 
quickly.  He  never  mentioned  this  to  any  one,  and  even 
if  he  would,  he  could  not  have  found  words  to  express  it. 
Later  on,  when  his  consciousness  and  thinking  power  in- 
creased, this  sensation  became  tinged  with  thoughts  about 
the  end  of  the  world  and  the  second  coming. 

At  times  the  most  sinister  croaking  of  the  old  men  would 
leave  him  unmoved,  while  something  unexpected,  a  colour, 
a  sound,  a  scent  could  rouse  in  him  the  same  feeling  with 
sudden  force.  His  house  stood  on  the  slope  of  the  Sparrow 
hills,  beyond  the  river  Moscow.  The  garden  abruptly 
terminated  in  a  steep  cliff.     From  this  spot  the  whole  of 


ANTICHRIST  71 

Moscow  could  be  seen  :  a  mass  of  black  log  structures — 
very  much  like  a  village — and  towering  above  them,  the 
white  stone  walls  of  the  Kremlin  and  the  countless  golden 
domes  of  churches.  Hence,  too,  the  boy  would  often  watch 
those  grand  and  terrible  sunsets,  which  sometimes  occur 
in  a  late,  stormy  autumn.  In  the  clouds,  which  appeared 
now  hvid  blue,  purple,  black  or  flaming  red,  now  as  it  were 
bloody,  he  fancied  he  could  discern  at  one  time  a  giant 
serpent  which  had  coiled  round  Moscow,  at  another  a  Beast 
with  seven  heads  with  a  woman  sitting  on  it,  having  a  cup 
in  her  hand  full  of  abominations  :  now  he  saw  the  host  of 
angels  pursuing  demons,  wounding  them  with  arrows  of 
fire  and  causing  streams  of  blood  to  flow  over  the  heavens, 
or  again  the  radiant  Zion,  the  invisible  city,  which  descend- 
ing out  of  heaven,  was  resplendent  with  the  glory  of  the  com- 
ing Lord.  It  seemed  as  though  the  mystery,  destined  to 
be  revealed  on  earth,  was  already  being  enacted  in  the 
heavens.  And  the  familiar  presentiment  of  the  final  end 
of  all  things  entranced  the  boy.  This  same  presentiment 
was  also  roused  by  everyday  occurrences,  even  by  the  merest 
trifles  ;  by  the  smell  of  tobacco  ;  by  the  first  sight  of  a  Russian 
book  printed  in  Amsterdam  by  order  of  Peter,  in  the  new 
civil  characters  ;  by  the  signs  over  the  new  shops  in  the 
German  quarter  ;  by  a  special  form  of  wig,  which  had  long, 
curious  locks  like  Jew's  ringlets  or  dog's  ears  ;  or  by  the 
peculiar  expression  on  Russian  faces,  recently  bearded,  now 
clean-shaven. 

One  day,  Yeremeich,  the  beekeeper,  an  old  man  of  eighty 
years,  who  lodged  in  their  garden,  was  captured  by  the 
royal  commissioners  at  the  town  gate ;  they  forcibly 
shaved  off  his  beard  and  cut  short  the  lappets  of  his  coat 
according  to  the  regulation  measure.  The  old  man  returned 
sobbing  like  a  child,  fell  ill  and  shortly  died  of  grief.  Tichon 
loved  the  old  man  and  was  sorry  for  him,  yet  when  he  first 
caught  sight  of  him,  clean-shaven,  with  his  coat  shortened, 
sobbing  most  piteously,  the  boy  burst  into  a  laugh,  but 
one  so  strange  and  unnatural  that  Pahomitch  dreaded 
another  fit.  In  this  laugh,  too,  there  was  the  fear  of  the 
end  of  the  world. 

Once  in  winter  a  comet  appeared,  "  a  star  with  a  tail," 
so  Pahomitch  called  it    The  boy  all  the  time  longed  to  see 


72 


PETER  AND  ALEXIS 


it,  yet  did  not  dare  to  look  ;  he  used  to  purposely  turn 
away  his  head,  and  close  his  eyes.  But  one  night  he  saw  it 
quite  unexpectedly,  when  Pahomitch  was  carrying  him 
across  a  snowdrifted  lane  to  the  bath-house.  At  the  end 
of  this  lane  between  the  black  loghouses,  rising  just  above 
the  white  snow,  at  the  very  edge  of  the  dark  blue  sky, 
sparkled  a  large,  delicately  transparent  star  ;  it  seemed  to  be 
gliding  away,  as  it  were,  into  infinite  space.  It  was  not 
terrible,  on  the  contrary  so  familiar,  so  welcome,  so  fair,  that 
he  gazed  and  could  not  gaze  enough.  The  old  feeling,  stronger 
than  ever,  clutched  his  heart  with  unendurable  terror  and 
delight.  He  stretched  himself  towards  the  star,  as  if  now 
only  awakening,  with  a  tender,  dreamy  smile.  At  the 
same  time  Pahomitch  felt  terrible  convulsions  shake  the 
little  body.  A  cry  escaped  the  boy ;  he  had  his  second 
epileptic  fit. 

At  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  was  compelled,  together  with 
other  children  belonging  to  the  nobility,  to  attend  the 
school  of  "  Mathematical,  Nautical,  that  is  Maritime,  and 
cunning  Arts."  The  school  was  located  in  the  Suchareva 
tower,  where  James  Bruce  was  engaged  on  astronomical 
observations.  The  astronomer  was  considered  to  be  a 
sorcerer  and  magician  :  a  squinting  woman,  who  sold  soaked 
apples  in  a  street  close  by,  had  seen  Bruce  one  winter's 
night  flying  from  the  tower  straight  to  the  moon,  astride  of 
a  telescope.  Nothing  in  this  world  would  have  induced 
Pahomitch  to  send  the  child  to  this  cursed  place,  but  the 
boys  were  taken  there  by  force. 

Minors,*  who  had  been  in  hiding  on  their  estates,  some 
even  married,  babes  of  thirty  or  forty  years  of  age,  had 
been  brought  hither  by  compulsion,  and  now  sat  next  to 
children  on  the  same  bench.  They  learnt  from  the 
same  book,  which  had  a  picture  representing  a  teacher 
beating  with  rods  a  schoolboy  laid  across  a  bench.  Below 
ran  the  inscription,  "  Let  every  boy  learn  in  quiet."  All 
the  primers  were  well  supplied  with  verses  about  the  rod  : 


1  Minors  are  descendants  of  noble  families  who  had  not  yet 
acquired  the  r  ght  of  alienation  over  their  immovable  property 
until  they  had  served  seven  years  in  the  army  or  ten  years  in  a  civil 
capacity. — See  p.  98,  "A  History  of  Russia."     W.  R    IMorfill. 


ANTICHRIST  73 

God  bless  the  woods  for  evermore, 
Of  useful  rods  the  living  store  ; 
Birch  is  for  youth  the  needful  kind, 
Nought  but  stiff  oak  brings  age  to  mind. 

It  was  prescribed  by  a  royal  ukase  that  a  number  of  strong 
soldiers  should  be  chosen  from  the  Guards  Regiment,  one  of 
whom,  lash  in  hand,  should  be  present  in  each  room  during 
the  lessons  ;  and  should  one  of  the  pupils  misbehave,  he 
was  to  be  lashed,  irrespective  of  his  rank  or  family.  But 
neither  rods  nor  lashes  could  knock  learning  into  their 
heads  ;  both  young  and  old  learnt  badly.  Sometimes  in 
moments  of  despair  they  would  sing,  "  the  Song  of  Baby- 
lon." The  older  ones,  their  voices  hoarse  with  excessive 
drink,  would  start  : 

We  with  school  life  can't  agree. 
The  use  of  rods  is  far  too  free. 

The  shriller  young  voices  chimed  in  : — 

Sorry  and  sad 
Is  every  lad. 

then  both  high  and  low  would  join  in  the  chorus. 

Tichon  would  have  learnt  little  in  the  school  had  he  not 
attracted  the  attention  of  one  of  his  teachers,  the  Pastor 
Gliick,  a  native  of  Konigsberg.  Gliick,  who  had  acquired 
a  kind  of  Russian  from  a  runaway  Polish  monk,  came  to 
Russia  "  to  teach,"  quoting  his  own  words,  "  the  Muscovy 
youths,  who  were  soft  and  impressionable  as  clay."  He 
was  soon  disillusioned  however,  not  so  much  by  the  youths 
themselves,  as  by  the  Russian  method  employed  in  train- 
ing them,  "  like  horses,"  knocking  knowledge  into  their 
heads  with  whips.  Gliick  was  kind  and  clever  in  spite  of 
being  a  drunkard  ;  sorrow  drove  him  to  drink,  because  not 
only  Russians  but  even  Germans  considered  him  mad. 
He  was  engaged  upon  an  enormous  task,  the  writing  of  com- 
mentaries on  ''Newton's  Commeniarv  to  the  Apocalypse"  ; 
a  book  in  which  all  Christian  revelations  concerning  the 
end  of  the  world  were  proved  by  minute  astronomical 
calculations,  based  on  the  laws  of  gravitation,  l.-^id  down 
in  Newton's  recently  published  "  Philosophce  Naturalis 
Principia  Mathematica." 


74  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

He  discovered  in  his  pupil  Tichon  an  extraordinary  gift 
for  mathematics  ;   he  loved  him  dearly,  as  his  own  kin. 

After  a  glass  or  two,  he  would  converse  with  Tichon  as 
with  his  dearest  friend,  forgetful  of  his  age.  He  used  to  tell 
him  about  the  new  teachings  in  philosophy;  about  Bacon's 
"  Magna  Instauratio,"  Spinoza's  "  Geometrical  Ethics," 
Descartes'  "  Vortices,"  "  The  Monads  of  Leibnitz  "  ;  but  the 
greatest  inspiration  kindled  in  him  when  talking  about  the 
great  discoveries  in  astronomy,  made  by  Copernicus,  Kepler 
and  Newton.  The  boy  could  not  follow  all  he  heard,  yet 
he  listened  to  these  accounts  of  scientific  wonders  as  eagerly 
as  he  did  to  the  talks  of  the  three  old  men  about  the  legen- 
dary town. 

As  to  Pahomitch,  he  considered  all  foreign  science,  espe- 
cially astrology  and  astronomy,  blasphemous.  "The 
damned  Copernicus  rivals  God  Himself,"  he  used  to  say, 
"  he  has  lifted  the  heavy  globe  into  the  air  ;  it  is  nothing 
but  a  dream,  all  this  nonsense  about  the  sun  and  the  stars 
being  fixed  while  the  earth  alone  goes  round  ;  it  is  clean 
contrary  to  Holy  Writ.     Theologians  laugh  at  him." 

"  True  philosophy,"  Pastor  Gliick  was  wont  to  say,  "  is 
not  only  useful,  but  even  necessary  to  faith.  Many  of  the 
Holy  Fathers  excelled  in  philosophy.  Knowledge  of  nature 
does  not  impede  Christianity,  and  God  honours  him  who 
strives  to  explore  nature.  To  reason  about  the  created 
tends  to  the  glory  of  the  Creator,  for  it  is  written  ;  '  the 
heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God.'  " 

A  vague  instinct,  however,  told  Tichon  that  this  recon- 
ciliation between  knowledge  and  faith  was  not  quite  as 
simple  and  easy  even  to  Gliick,  as  the  latter  believed,  or 
tried  to  believe.  It  was  not  without  reason,  that  sometimes, 
after  a  learned  debate  with  himself  about  the  plurality  of 
worlds  and  the  incomprehensibility  of  cosmic  space,  the 
drunken  old  man,  oblivious  of  his  pupil's  presence,  would 
in  exhaustion  lay  his  bald  head  on  the  table-edge,  his  wig 
awry,  dazed  not  so  much  with  wine,  as  by  the  confusing 
metaphysical  thoughts,  and  groan,  repeating  Newton's 
celebrated  words  : — 

"  O  Physica — save  me  from  Metaphysica  !  " 

One  day  Tichon  found  on  his  teacher's  table  a  manuscript 
collection  of  Spinoza's  letters,  which  had  been  brought  from 


ANTICHRIST  75 

Holland.  Tichon,  nineteen  at  that  time  and  about  to 
leave  school,  could  read  Latin  fluently.  He  opened  the  book, 
the  first  lines' he  chanced  to  see  were  these  :  "  There  is  much 
in  common  between  man's  nature  and  God's,  as  between  the 
constellation  of  the  Dog  and  the  dog,  the  barking  animal. 
For  I  believe  that  a  triangle,  if  it  could  speak,  would  in  like 
manner  say  that  God  is  eminently  triangular,  and  a  circle, 
that  the  Divine  nature  is  in  an  eminent  manner  circular. 
And  in  another  letter  concerning  the  Eucharist  :  "  Oh,  fool- 
ish youth  !  Who  has  so  bewitched  you  as  to  make  you 
believe  in  the  possibility  of  swallowing  something  holy  and 
eternal  ?  as  if  holy  and  eternal  things  could  remain  in  your 
bowels  !  Stupendous  are  the  sacraments  of  your  church, 
they  are  contrary  to  reason  !  "  Tichon  closed  the  book,  he 
read  no  further.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  thought  had 
roused  in  him  the  old  feeling  of  terror  at  the  end  of  all  things, 
which  so  far  had  only  been  called  forth  by  external  impres- 
sions. 

In  the  Siikharev  tower,  James  Bruce  had  a  well-stocked 
library,  a  cabinet  of  mathematical,  mechanical  and  other 
instruments,  also  a  collection  of  natural  objects  :  animals, 
insects,  plants,  various  ores  and  minerals,  antiquities,  old 
coins,  medals,  cut  stones,  larvae,  and  foreign,  as  well  as  Rus- 
sian curiosities.  Bruce  had  commissioned  Gliick  to  cata- 
logue all  the  books  and  objects.  Tichon  helped  him,  and 
spent  whole  days  in  the  library. 

One  bright  summer  evening  he  was  sitting  on  the  top  of 
a  folding  library  ladder,  which  moved  on  wheels,  before  a 
wall  ranged  with  books  from  top  to  bottom  ;  he  was  sticking 
numbers  on  the  backs  of  books,  comparing  the  new  cata- 
logue with  the  old  illiterate  one,  in  which  the  names  of 
foreign  books  were  copied  out  in  Russian  characters. 
Through  the  high  windows,  glazed  after  the  manner  of  old 
Dutch  houses  with  little  round  pieces  of  glass  fixed  in  a  net- 
work of  lead,  the  slanting  rays  of  sunshine  fell  like  sheaves 
of  luminous  dust  upon  the  sparkling  brass  instruments  ; 
on  the  heavenly  spheres,  astrolabes,  compasses,  bevels, 
draught  compasses,  measurement  scales,  levels,  telescopes, 
microscopes  ;  the  various  stuffed  birds  and  animals,  the 
huge  bone  from  a  mammoth's  head,  monstrous  Chinese 
idols  and  marble  statues  of  beautiful  Hellenic  gods  ;    the 


76  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

interminable  rows  of  books  uniformly  bound  in  leather  and 
parchment.  Tichon  enjoyed  his  work,  here  among  the 
books.  There  reigned  the  calm,  soothing  peace  of  a  wood, 
or  ot  some  old  cemetery,  which,  forsaken  by  men,  is 
lovingly  visited  only  by  sunshine.  No  sound  interrupted 
the  stillness  save  the  evening  chimes,  which  suggested  the 
bells  of  the  legendary  town  Kitesh,  and  the  voices  which 
came  through  the  open  door  of  the  adjoining  room  where 
Bruce  and  Pastor  Gliick,  having  finished  their  supper,  now 
sat  talking  and  smoking  over  their  wine. 

Tichon  had  just  fastened  new  numbers  on  some  quarto 
and  octavo  volumes  which  were  described  in  the  old  cata- 
logue under  No.  473  as  The  Philosophy  of  Francis  Bacon 
in  English,  3  vols.  ;  under  No.  308,  Meditationes  de  Prima 
Philosophia,  by  Descartes,  in  Dutch "  ;  under  No.  532, 
Philosophiae  Natiiralis  Principia  Mathemaiica,  by  Isaac 
Newton.  Returning  the  books  to  their  places,  Tichon 
found  at  the  back  of  the  shelf  an  old  mouse-eaten  octavo, 
No.  461,  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  a  treatise  on  painting,  in  Ger- 
man. This  was  the  first  German  translation  of  Trattato 
della  Pittnra,  issued  at  Amsterdam,  in  the  year  1582  ;  a 
leaflet  with  a  wood-cut  portrait  of  Leonardo  had  been  placed 
in  the  book.  Tichon  gazed  intently  at  this  face,  strange, 
unknown,  and  yet  so  familiar,  as  if  he  had  once  seen  it  in  a 
dream.  He  thought  that  Simon  the  magician,  who  could 
fly  in  the  air,  must  surely  have  had  a  similar  face. 

The  voices  in  the  neighbouring  room  seemed  to  grow 
louder  and  louder,  Bruce  was  disputing  some  matter  with 
Pastor  Gliick.  They  spoke  in  German.  Tichon  had  learnt 
the  language  from  the  pastor ;  a  few  stray  words  struck  him  ; 
his  curiosity  was  aroused  and  he  remained,  with  Leonardo's 
book  still  in  his  hand,  trying  to  catch  the  drift  of  their  con- 
versation. 

"  How  is  it  you  don't  see  it.  Reverend  Sir,  that  Newton 
was  no  longer  in  his  right  senses  when  he  wrote  his  Commen- 
taries on  the  Apocalypse  ?  "  said  Bruce.  "  Later  on  he  him- 
self confesses  it,  in  a  letter  addressed  to  Bentlcy,  on  Septem- 
ber 13,  i6q3,  '  I  have  lost  my  coherency  of  thought  and  no 
longer  feel  the  old  vigour  of  reason,'  in  other  words,  he 
simply  went  into  his  dotage." 

"  Your  Excellency,  I  would  rather  be  mad  with  Newton 


ANTICHRIST  ^>j 

than  reasonable  with  the  rest  of  us  bipeds  !  "  exclaimed 
Gliick,  tossing  off  another  glass  of  wine. 

"  There  is  no  accounting  for  taste,  my  good  sir,"  continued 
Bruce,  with  a  dry,  short,  wooden  laugh,  "  but  here's  some- 
thing more  curious  still.  At  the  time  Newton  wrote  his 
Commentaries,  in  Moscovy,  the  other  extremity  of  the 
world, barbarians  called  'Raskolniks,'  have  in  their  turn  com- 
piled Commentaries  on  the  Apocalypse,  and  come  to  very 
much  the  same  conclusions  as  Newton.  Daily  expecting  the 
Day  of  Doom,  and  the  Second  Coming,  some  lay  themselves 
in  coffins  and  say  their  own  funeral  service ;  others  burn 
themselves.  They  are  hunted  and  persecuted  ;  for  my  part 
I  would  say  of  these  unfortunate  people,  in  the  words  of 
Leibnitz,  '  I  do  not  like  savageries,  and  would  prefer  to  let 
everybody  live  in  peace.'  As  for  those  who  are  calmly 
awaiting  the  end  of  the  world,  their  error  seems  to  me 
quite  innocent.  Another  thing  strikes  me  as  most  curious, 
that  the  extreme  West  and  the  extreme  East,  the  greatest 
enlightenment  and  the  greatest  ignorance,  meet  in  these 
Apocalyptic  deliriums.  It  is  enough  to  suggest  that  the  end 
of  the  world  is  drawing  nigh  and  that  we  shall  all  go  to  the 
devil  very  soon  !  " 

Again  he  laughed  his  sharp,  wooden  laugh  and  then  added 
something  Tichon  could  not  hear,  but  it  was  evidently 
something  very  heterodox,  for  Pastor  Gliick,  whose  wig  had, 
as  usual  at  the  end  of  his  supper,  slipped  to  one  side  of  his 
drowsy  head,  suddenly  jumped  up  in  a  fury,  pushed  back 
his  chair  and  was  going  to  run  out  of  the  room.  Bruce  kept 
him  back,  however,  and  a  few  kind  words  reassured  him  : 
he  was  the  only  patron  Gliick  had.  He  loved  and  esteemed 
him  for  his  disinterested  pursuit  of  knowledge  ;  yet,  being 
himself  a  sceptic,  or  as  many  asserted  a  thorough  atheist, 
he  could  not  see  the  poor  Pastor,  the  Don  Quixote  of  astro- 
nomy, without  being  tempted  to  tease  him  and  scoff  at  the 
unlucky  commentaries  on  the  Apocalypse — the  reconcilia- 
tion of  science  and  religion. 

Bruce  was  of  opinion  that  one  or  the  other  had  to  be 
chosen — either  faith  without  knowledge,  or  knowledge 
without  faith. 

He  filled  Gliick's  glass  and.  in  order  to  console  him,  began 
to  inquire  about  the  details  of  Newton's  Apocalypse.     At 


78  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

first  the  old  man  answered  reluctantly,  but  after  a  while  he 
related  with  enthusiasm  Newton's  conversation  with  his 
friend  concerning  the  comet  of  1680.  "  One  day,  when  asked 
about  it,  instead  of  giving  a  direct  answer  he  opened  his 
Principia  and  pointed  to  a  place  where  it  was  said  '  Stellae 
fixae  refieri  possunt.  Fixed  stars  can  be  renewed  by  comets 
falling  upon  them.'  '  Why  did  you  not  write  about  the 
sun  as  plainly  as  you  did  about  the  stars  ?  '  '  Because  the 
sun  concerns  us  more,'  replied  Newton,  and  then  added 
with  a  laugh,  '  For  the  rest,  I  have  said  sufficient  for  those 
who  desire  to  understand.' 

"  As  a  moth  attracted  by  the  light,  so  will  the  comet  fall 
into  the  sun  and  increase  the  solar  heat  to  such  an  extent, 
that  everything  on  earth  will  be  consumed  by  fire.  As  it  is 
written  in  the  Holy  Scriptures  :  '  The  heavens  will  pass 
away  with  a  great  noise,  and  the  elements  shall  melt  with 
fervent  heat ;  the  earth  also  and  the  works  that  are  therein 
shall  be  burnt  up.'  Then  the  prophecies  will  be  accomplished 
both  of  him  who  believed,  and  of  him  who  knew. 

"  '  Hypotheses  non  fingo  ! '  "  he  concluded  with  an  in- 
spired air,  repeating  Newton's  great  saying. 

Tichon  was  still  listening,  and  the  ancient  prophetic  caw- 
ings  of  the  three  old  men  seemed  to  fit  in  with  the  most 
exact  deductions  of  science.  Closing  his  eyes,-  he  saw  a  lonely 
lane,  banked  up  with  snowdrifts,  and  at  its  end,  rising  just 
above  the  white  snow,  between  the  black  houses,  on  the  very 
edge  of  the  dark  blue  sky,  a  large,  delicately-transparent 
star.  And  again,  just  in  as  childhood's  days,  the  familiar 
sensation  clutched  his  heart  with  unbearable  fear  and  joy. 
He  dropped  Leonardo's  book,  which  in  its  fall  caught  the 
tube  of  the  astrolabe,  and  with  a  loud  crash  they  both  fell 
to  the  ground.  In  hurried  Gliick.  He  knew  Tichon  was 
subject  to  fits,  and  perceiving  him  at  the  top  of  the  ladder, 
pale  and  trembling,  hastened  to  him,  caught  him  in  his  arms, 
and  helped  him  down.  This  tim.e  the  fit  did  not  come  on. 
Bruce  too  had  come  in.  They  sympathetically  tried  to 
make  Tichon  talk  ;  but  he  remained  silent,  he  felt  that  it 
was  impossible  to  discuss  this  with  anybody. 

"  Poor  lad !  "  said  Bruce  apart  to  Gliick,  "  I  feel  almost 
convinced  that  our  talk  has  frightened  him,  they  are  all  alike 
here,  one  idea  seems  to  possess  them — the  thought  about 


ANTICHRIST  79 

the  end  of  the  world.  I  have  noticed  of  late  that  the  mad- 
ness seems  to  spread  among  them  like  an  epidemic.  God 
alone  knows  where  this  unhappy  people  will  end  !  " 

On  leaving  the  school,  Tichon  was  expected  to  enter  the 
ranks  of  the  army,  like  other  young  men  belonging  to  the 
nobility.  Pahomitch  had  died.  Gliick  was  preparing  for 
a  journey  to  Sweden  and  England,  commissioned  by  Bruce 
to  buy  new  mathematical  instruments.  He  invited  Tichon 
to  accompany  him.  Tichon,  forgetting  all  his  childish 
superstitions  and  Pahomitch's  warnings,  gave  himself  with 
ever  increasing  love  to  the  study  of  mathematics.  His 
health  had  improved  and  his  fits  did  not  recur.  A  long- 
cherished  curiosity  drew  him  to  foreign  lands,  almost  as  mys- 
terious to  him  as  the  invisible  legendary  town.  Thus,  owing 
to  Bruce's  intervention,  Tichon  Zapolski,  scholar  of  the 
Navigation  School,  was  by  the  Tsar's  decree  ordered,  along 
with  other  Russian  youths,  to  finish  his  studies  abroad. 
They  arrived  with  Gliick  in  Petersburg  in  the  beginning 
of  June,  1715.  Tichon  was  twenty-five  years  old,  the  same 
age  as  the  Tsarevitch  Alexis,  yet  he  looked  a  mere  boy.  The 
trading  vessel,  which  was  to  take  them  to  Stockholm,  was 
due  to  leave  Kronslot  in  a  few  days. 

Suddenly  all  inTichon'slife  had  changed  !  Petersburg,  in 
its  general  aspect  so  unlike  Moscow,  had  startled  Tichon. 
For  days  he  would  wander  about  the  streets  looking  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  endless  canals,  prospects,  houses  erected  on  piles, 
driven  into  the  yielding  mud  of  the  marshes,  all  in  a  row, 
along  a  straight  line,  according  to  a  law,  which  forbade  any 
new  building  either  to  go  beyond  or  fall  short  of  the  pre- 
scribed line,  modest  whitewashed  huts  amidst  woods  and 
waste  lands,  often  roofed  in  the  Finnish  manner  with  turf 
and  birch-bark,  palaces  of  elaborate  structure,  after  the 
Prussian  fashion,  melancholy  garrison  depots,  ammunition 
stores,  sheds,  churches  with  Dutch  spires,  and  striking  clocks 
— everything  was  flat,  ordinary,  colourless,  very  much  like  a 
dream- vision.  At  times,  on  dull  mornings,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  city,  shrouded  in  a  muddy  yellow  mist,  would 
lift  with  the  fog  and  vanish  like  a  dream.  In  the  legendary 
city  that  which  is,  remains  invisible,  while  here  in  Peters- 
burg on  the  contrary,  the  visible  is  that  which  is  not  ;  yet 
both  cities  were  equally  visionary.     And  again  there  arose 


8o  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

within  him  that  strange  feeling,  which  he  had  not  experi- 
ienced  for  a  long  time — the  presentiment  of  the  end.  Only 
it  no  longer  resolved  itself  into  ecstasy  and  fear,  but 
oppressed  him  with  a  more  definite  anguish. 

One  day,  on  the  Troit^a  Square  near  the  Four  Frigates 
coffee  house,  he  met  a  tall  man  wearing  the  leather  jacket 
of  a  Dutch  skipper.  And  just  as  in  Moscow,  on  the  Red 
Square  near  the  Lobnoye  Palace,  where  his  father's  head 
on  the  spike  had  looked  with  its  empty  eye-socket  straight 
into  that  tall  man's  very  eyes,  Tichon  again  recognized  him 
— the  Tsar  Peter.  The  terrible  face  suddenly  explained  to 
him  the  terrible  town — they  both  bore  the  same  impress. 

That  same  day  he  met  the  monk  Cornelius  ;  he  was 
delighted  to  see  him  and  did  not  leave  him  again.  He  slept 
the  night  in  the  old  man's  cell  and  s})ent  his  days  on  the 
rafts  and  barges  among  the  "  hidden  runaway  folk."  He 
listened  to  their  tales  about  the  hves  of  great  hermits,  who 
lived  in  the  north,  in  the  woods  along  the  sea  coast,  the  Onega 
and  Olonitz  where  Cornelius,  on  leaving  Moscow,  had  spent 
many  years  ;  about  terrible  burnings,  where  many  thou- 
sands had  sought  a  fiery  death.  From  the  barge  Cornelius 
was  now  going  to  preach  the  Red  Death  in  the  woods  beyond 
the  Volga.  Tichon  had  not  studied  in  vain  ;  much  of  what 
these  people  believed  he  no  longer  could  believe  ;  he  thought 
differently,  but  felt  the  same  as  they,  and  what  was  more 
important  still — common  to  them  all  was  the  presentiment 
of  the  end.  That  about  which  he  never  could  speak,  which 
none  of  the  learned  would  have  comprehended,  these  people 
understood  and  by  it  alone  they  lived.  All  he  remembered 
Pahomitch  telling  him  in  his  earliest  childhood  now  sud- 
denly had  revived  in  his  soul  with  new  force.  Again  he  fel<. 
drawn  to  the  woods,  the  deserts,  the  secret  settlements  and 
peaceful  refuges.  Again  through  the  air  of  the  white  night 
he  seemed  to  hear  over  the  Neva  the  bells  of  that  visionary 
city,  in  the  chimes  of  the  Dutch  clocks,  again  with  languid 
melancholy  and  yearning  he  would  repeat  the  ballad  about 
Prince  Joseph : — 


Fair  solitude  !  my  heart's  desire 

Through  forest  and  mire 

Over  hill,  dale,  and  peak.  .  .  ,  , 


ANTICHRIST  8i 

He  had  to  decide,  to  choose  one  or  the  other  course  :  either 
to  return  to  the  world  and  hve  there  hke  all  men,  serve  a 
man  who  had  destroyed  his  father  and  was  likely  to  destroy 
the  whole  of  Russia  ;  or  once  for  all  turn  his  back  upon  the 
world,  become  a  beggar,  a  wanderer,  one  of  those  "  hidden, 
runaway  folk,"  who  have  here  no  continuing  city,  but  seek 
one  to  come  ;  to  the  West  with  Pastor  Gliick,  or  to  the  East, 
the  legendary  city,  with  Cornelius  the  monk.  Which  should 
he  choose  ?  whither  should  he  go  ?  he  had  not  yet  made  up 
his  mind  ;  he  wavered,  tarried  with  the  final  decision.  He 
seemed  to  wait  for  something.  But  this  night,  after  the 
conversation  on  the  raft  about  Peter,  the  Antichrist,  he  felt 
that  it  was  impossible  to  delay  any  longer.  The  ship  was 
sailing  for  Stockholm  in  the  morning,  and  on  the  morrow 
Cornelius,  threatened  with  arrest,  was  obliged  to  flee  from 
Petersburg.     He  urged  Tichon  to  come  with  him. 

"  I  am  just  upon  the  sword-edge,"  he  again  thought,  "  and 
whichever  side  I  happen  to  fall  on,  in  that  will  I  abide. 
There  is  but  one  life,  one  death;  a  second  blunder  won't 
mend  the  first." 

Yet  at  the  same  time  Tichon  felt  powerless  to  decide,  and 
that  two  destinies,  like  the  two  ends  of  a  deadly  noose, 
joined  and  tightening,  seemed  to  press  and  strangle  him. 
He  got  up,  took  from  the  shelf  a  manuscript — "  The  Medita- 
tions of  St.  Hyppolitus  concerning  the  second  comwg,"  and  in 
order  to  escape  from  thought,  began  looking  at  the  title 
pictures  by  light  of  the  oil-lamp  burning  before  the  image. 
One  of  them  represented  Antichrist,  sitting  on  a  throne, 
wearing  the  green  uniform  of  the  Preobrazhensky  regiment 
with  red  facings  and  brass  buttons  ;  on  his  head,  a  three- 
cornered  hat  and  a  sword  by  his  side  :  his  face  resembled  that 
of  Tsar  Peter,  and  he  was  pointing  forward  with  his  hand. 
In  front  of  him,  to  the  right,  columns  of  the  Preobrazhensky 
and  Simeon  Guards  were  marching  towards  a  monastery 
among  dark  woods.  Far  above,  on  a  hill  with  three 
caves,  some  monks  were  praying.  The  soldiers,  guided  by 
quaint  blue  demons,  were  climbing  up  the  mountain  slope. 
Below  ran  the  legend  :  "  Then  will  he  send  into  the  hills 
and  caves  and  holes  of  the  earth  his  armies  of  evil  spirits  to 
seek  out  those  who  hide  from  his  sight  and  bring  them  to 
worship  him."     On  another  picture  soldiers  were  shooting 

F 


82  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

at  monks  who  were  bound  :  "  These  are  falHng  by  Satan's 
hand." 

Behind  the  wooden  partition  Elena  continued  to  sigh 
and  weep,  praying  to  the  heavenly  King  for  the  Tsar  Peter. 
Tichon  laid  down  the  book  and  fell  on  his  knees  before 
the  icon.  Yet  he  could  not  pray.  Anguish  seized  him, 
such  as  he  had  never  felt  before.  The  flame  of  the 
burnt-out  lamp  flared  up  a  last  time  and  then  went  out ; 
gloom  surrounded  him,  and  something  seemed  to  creep  up 
and  clutch  his  throat  with  a  dark,  soft,  warm  hairy  paw. 
He  grew  short  of  breath.  His  body  was  bathed  in  a  cold 
sweat.  And  again  it  seemed  to  him  he  was  flying  headlong, 
sinking  down  into  some  black  gloom,  into  an  abyss — the 
jaws  of  the  Beast  itself.  "  It  does  not  really  matter," 
thought  Tichon,the  thought  flashed  on  his  mind  with  unbear- 
able clearness,  it  did  not  really  matter  which  of  the  two 
paths  he  chose,  go  east  or  go  west,  here  or  there,  at  either 
extremity  of  the  earth  there  ruled  the  one  foreboding — "  The 
end  is  approaching."  For  as  the  lightning  comes  from  the 
east  and  shineth  even  unto  the  west,  so  should  also  the 
coming  of  the  Son  of  man  be.  And  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
— Tichon — had  already  beheld  this  encircling  lightning. 
"  Even  so,  come  Lord  Jesus  !  "  he  exclaimed.  At  that  very 
instant  the  cell  window  was  lit  up  with  a  terrible  white  light. 
A  deafening  crash  followed.  It  seemed  as  though  the  sky 
was  rent  and  falling.  It  was  the  same  lightning  which  had 
so  startled  the  Tsar  Peter  that  he  let  the  icon  droji  at  the  foot 
of  Venus.  Elena  heard,  through  the  howling,  hiss  and  rum- 
bling of  the  storm,  a  terrible  unearthly  scream.  Tichon  for 
the  third  time  in  his  life  was  seized  with  an  epileptic  swoon. 

He  recovered  consciousness  on  the  deck  of  the  barge, 
where  he  had  been  brought  from  the  close  cell  to  revi'/e. 
It  was  early  morning,  blue  sky  above,  white  mist  below.  A 
star  was  glistening  in  the  east  through  the  mist,  it  was  the 
star  of  Venus.  On  the  isle  of  Keivoussary,  crowning  the 
dome  of  the  house  of  Boutourlin,  the  Metropolitan  of  the 
Thrice-Drunken  Conclave,  stood  the  gilt  statue  of  Bacchus. 
Lit  up  by  the  first  ray  of  the  rising  sun,  it  glowed  like  a  red 
star  through  the  mist.  The  earthly  star  exchanged  myste- 
rious glances  with  the  heavenly  one.  The  mist  became 
roseate,  as  if  blood  were  entering  the  pale  bodies  of  phan- 


ANTICHRIST  83 

toms.  The  marble  body  of  the  goddess,  in  the  middle 
pavilion  over-looking  the  Neva,  glowed  as  if  alive.  She 
smiled  her  eternal  smile  at  the  sun,  rejoicing  that  he  rose 
even  here  amid  the  hyperborean  night.  The  body  of  the 
goddess  shone  ethereal  and  roseate  in  the  shroud  of  mist, 
the  mist  glowing  like  the  body  of  the  goddess.  The  mist 
was  her  body.     In  her  all  existed,  and  she  in  all. 

Tichon  remembered  the  thoughts  that  had  thronged  his 
mind  during  the  night,  and  he  felt  in  his  soul  a  calm  deter- 
mination not  to  return  to  Pastor  Gliick,  but  to  escape  with 
Cornelius. 

*  *  *  * 

The  storm  had  shifted  the  barge  and  its  bow  was  now 
touching  the  raft  where  the  conversation  about  Antichrist 
had  taken  place  last  night.  Ivan  had  found  time  to  get  his 
sleep  and  he  was  again  sitting  in  the  same  place  as  last 
night  singing  the  same  song.  And  music,  (or  was  it  only 
phantom  music  ?)  the  sounds  of  the  minuet  subdued  by  the 
mist  : — 

'Tis  time  to  cast   thy  bow  away, 
CupiJ,  we  all  are  in  thy  sway. 

mingled  with  Ivan's  melancholy,  drawling  song,  as,  his  face 
turned  to  the  east  and  the  dawn,  he  sang  of  the  eternal 
setting,  the  end  of  all  days  : 

Hollowed  oak  trunks,  ye  will  prove 
Fit  house  for  us,  who  on  earth  did  move. 
Night  approacheth,  endeth  Day, 
And  cruel  Death  his  scythe  doth  lay 
To  the  root  of  all  that  live  ! 


CHAPTER    III 

ON  the  banks  of  the  Neva,  near  the  Church  of  Mary  the 
Mother  of  all  the  Sorrowing,  next  to  the  house  be- 
longing to  the  Tsarevitch  Alexis,  stood  that  of  Tsaritsa 
Martha,  the  widow  of  Tsar  Peter's  stepbrother  Fedor. 
Fedor  died  when  Peter  was  ten  years  old.  The  Tsaritsa, 
eighteen  at  the  time  of  her  wedding,  had  been  married  only 
four  weeks.  The  death  of  her  husband  sent  her  out  of  her 
mind  and  she  spent  thirty-three  years  in  seclusion.  She 
never  left  her  apartments,  and  neither  knew  nor  saw  any- 
body. At  foreign  courts  she  was  believed  to  be  dead  long 
since.  Petersburg  she  had  only  caught  sight  of  through 
her  windows  :  its  whitewashed  huts,  built  after  the  Dutch 
and  Prussian  manner,  its  church  spires,  the  Neva  with  its 
barges  and  rafts  seemed  to  her  an  absurd  nightmare. 
Dreams  were  her  reality. 

She  imagined  herself  to  be  living  in  the  Moscow  Kremlin, 
in  the  old  Terems,  and  that  looking  through  the  window,  she 
would  see  the  high  Ivan  Tower  and  the  Church  of  the 
Annunciation.  Yet  she  never  did  look  out  of  her  window, 
alraid  to  dispel  her  dream,  afraid  of  the  daylight.  Con- 
tinual darkness  reigned  in  her  apartments  ;  the  windows 
were  draped.  She  lived  by  candle-light.  The  curtains 
and  screens  of  ancient  tradition  hid  the  last  Russian 
Tsaritsa  from  the  people's  sight.  The  solemn,  p()mj)ous 
ceremony  of  a  Tsar's  Court  was  strictly  observ^ed  here.  The 
servants  were  not  allowed  to  enter  further  than  the  hall. 
Here  time  stood  still,  here  nothing  had  changed  since  the 
days  of  the  gentle  Tsar  Alexis.  Her  crazy  mind  was  pos- 
sessed of  one  idea  :  she  believed  her  husband,  the  Tsar 
Fedor,  was  alive  ;  that  he  was  now  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre 
in  Jerusalem  praying  for  Russia,  which  was  being  invaded 


ANTICHRIST  85 

by  Antichrist,  accompanied  by  countless  armies  of  Poles  and 
pagan  foreigners.  There  is,  she  thinks,  no  Tsar  in  Russia  ;  he, 
who  calls  himself  Tsar,  not  being  the  true  one.  He  is  a  pre- 
tender, a  were-wolf,  a  Gregory  Otriopieff,  a  runaway  artil- 
lery man,  an  alien.  But  the  Lord  has  not  finally  forsaken 
his  faithful  Orthodox.  At  the  consummation  of  time,  he, 
Fedor,  the  only  true  Tsar  of  Russia,  "  the  fair  sun,"  will 
return  with  a  terrible  luminous  host,  and  the  foreign  troops 
will  flee  before  him  as  night  fleeth  ;  he  will  sit  with  his 
Tsaritsa  on  the  ancestral  throne  and  re-establish  truth  and 
justice.  All  the  people  will  come  and  bow  before  him,  and 
Antichrist,  together  with  all  his  foreigners,  will  be  over- 
thrown. Soon  thereafter  will  be  the  second  coming  of 
Christ,  the  end  of  the  world.  All  this  is  drawing  nigh,  is 
at  the  door. 

About  two  weeks  after  the  Venus  festival  in  the  Summer 
Garden,  Tsarevna  Maria  invited  Alexis  to  Tsaritsa  Martha's 
house.  This  was  not  the  first  time  they  had  arranged  to 
meet  there.  The  aunt  used  to  supply  him  with  news  and 
letters  from  his  mother,  the  Tsaritsa  Eudoxia,  the  first  wife 
of  Peter,  who  had  been  banished  to  the  Sousdal  nunnery 
under  the  name  of  Elena. 

On  entering  the  house  of  Tsaritsa  Martha,  Alexis  was 
obliged  to  grope  his  way  for  some  time  along  dark  wood 
corridors,  halls,  chambers,  ground  floors  and  staircases. 
There  was  a  smell  of  wood  oil,  old  mouldering  furniture, 
dust  and  the  rot  of  age  in  the  air.  The  house  teemed  with 
small  cells,  chambers,  secret  rooms,  side  rooms  and  closets. 
They  sheltered  the  old  wives  and  daughters  of  Boyars, 
chambermaids,  nurses,  housekeepers,  laundresses,  furriers, 
saintly  madmen,  mendicants,  wanderers,  pilgrims,  fools  and 
idiots,  orphaned  girls,  old  story  tellers  and  musicians,  who 
were  skilled  to  accompany  their  ancient  legends  by  melan- 
choly string  music.  Decrepit  servants  in  faded  coats, 
grizzled  and  shaggy,  well  nigh  moss-grown,  caught  hold  of 
Alexis'  lappets,  kissing  his  hand  and  his  shoulder.  Blind, 
dumb,  lame,  grey  with  age,  almost  featureless,  they  all 
followed  him,  gliding  along  the  walls  like  phantoms  ;  they 
thronged,  swarmed,  and  crept  about  in  the  dark  passages 
like  woodlice  in  damp  cracks.  He  met  the  fool  Shamira, 
who  was  always  pinching  and  grinning  with  the  fool  Polly. 


86  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  oldest  of  the  boyars'  wives,  Soundouleya  Vahrameyevna, 
the  favourite  of  the  Tsaritsa,  now  in  her  second  childhood, 
like  her  mistress,  and  fat,  yellow,  trembling  like  a  jelly,  fell 
at  his  feet  ;  and  for  some  reason  or  other  began  to  bewail 
him,  as  though  he  were  dead.  Alexis  felt  uncomfortable. 
He  remembered  his  father  saying  :  "  Tsaritsa  Martha's 
house  has  been  transformed  by  piety  into  a  hospital  for  the 
maimed  and  mad,  for  hypocrites  and  rascals." 

He  sighed  with  relief  on  entering  the  light,  airy  corner 
room  where  his  Aunt  Marya  Alexeyevna  was  expecting  him. 
The  windows  looked  out  upon  the  blue  sunny  space  of  the 
Neva  with  its  vessels  and  barges.  The  walls  were  bare  and 
the  logs  of  which  they  were  built  showed  as  in  a  village  hut. 
The  sole  ornaments  were  the  icons  and  the  lamps  which 
glimmered  before  them.  Wooden  seats  ran  along  the  walls. 
His  aunt  rose  from  the  table  at  which  she  was  sitting,  and 
tenderly  embraced  the  Tsarevitch.  She  was  dressed  after 
the  old  fashion  in  a  head-dress  and  a  jerkin  of  dark,  quiet 
colour  with  brown  spots.  Her  face  was  ugly,  pale,  slightly 
bloated,  like  that  of  an  old  nun.  Yet  in  the  ill-tempered 
lips,  the  clever,  sharp,  piercing  eyes,  there  was  something 
which  suggested  the  Tsarevna  Sophia — the  evil  brood  of 
the  Miloslavskis.  Like  Sophia,  she  too  hated  her  brother 
and  all  he  did  ;  she  loved  the  old  times.  Peter  had  spared 
her  ;  he  called  her  "  old  crow,  "  because  she  was  always 
cawing  evil  to  him. 

Maria  gave  Alexis  a  letter  from  his  mother.  It  was  an 
answer  to  the  son's  recent  note,  all  too  short  and  laconic  : 
"  Mother,  farewell  !  Please  do  not  forget  me  in  your  pray- 
ers." Alexis'  heart  throbbed,  as  he  began  to  decipher  the 
lines  of  the  familiar  writing,  scrawled  in  awkward,  childish 
characters. 

"  Tsarevitch  Alexis,  God  be  with  thee  !  I,  poor  woman, 
am  grieved  to  death,  that  thou  hast  forsaken  me  in  my  sor- 
row, forgotten  me  who  bore  thee.  I  tended  thee,  yet  thou 
hast  so  soon  forgotten  me  !  But  for  thee,  I  should  not  live 
in  such  tribulation  and  poverty.  Sad,  very  sad,  is  my  life, 
I  would  I  had  never  been  born.  I  know  not  why  so  much 
suffering  has  fallen  to  my  lot.  Yet  I  have  not  forgotten 
thee  ;  but  am  always  praying  the  Holy  Virgin  to  keep  thee 
pure  and  well  in  body  and  soul.     There  is  an  image  here 


ANTICHRIST  ^y 

of  the  Kazan  Virgin  for  which  a  church  has  been  built. 
For  thy  sake  I  had  this  image  brought  to  my  house,  and 
at  night  I  have  myself  taken  it  back,  carrying  it  on  my 
shoulders.  And  on  May  23,  I  had  a  vision.  The  heavenly 
Queen  appeared  to  me,  pure  and  radiant,  and  promised  to 
petition  her  Son,  our  Lord,  to  turn  my  sorrow  into  joy. 
And  I  heard,  unworthy  though  I  be,  the  radiant  Virgin 
speak  these  words  ;  '  Thou  hast  honoured  my  image  and 
carried  it  back  to  my  church,  I  will  exalt  thee  and  protect 
thy  son.'  And  thou,  my  joy,  my  own  child,  let  the  fear 
of  God  dwell  in  thine  heart.  Write  me,  darling  Aliosha, 
if  only  one  line  to  still  my  sobs  ;  let  me  rest  from  my  sor- 
row, have  mercy  upon  me,  thy  mother  and  slave.  I  pray 
thee  write.     I  greet  thee  devoutly." 

When  Alexis  had  finished  reading  the  letter,  his  aunt  gave 
him  presents,  sent  by  his  mother — a  small  image  ;  a  hand- 
kerchief which  the  lowly  sister  Elena  had  embroidered  with 
her  own  hand  ;  and  two  small  lime-wood  cups,  for  drinking 
vodka.  These  humble  presents  touched  him  even  more 
than  the  letter. 

"  You  have  quite  forgotten  her,"  said  Maria,  looking 
him  straight  in  the  face.  "  You  neither  write  nor  send  her 
anything." 

"  I  dare  not  write,  "  replied  the  Tsarevitch. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  retorted  with  vivacity,  and  her  sharp 
eyes  seemed  to  sting  him,  "  And  even  if  it  did  mean  a  little 
suffering,  what  matter  ?  It's  for  your  mother,  and  no  one 
else." 

He  remained  silent.  Then  she  began  telling  him  in  a 
low  voice  all  she  had  learnt  from  Michael,  a  half-witted 
saint,  who  had  come  from  Sousdal,  "  Their  joy  is  ever  buoy- 
ant :  visions,  signs,  prophecies  and  voices  from  the  images 
do  not  cease.  Job  of  Novgorod  says  :  '  Some  ill  is  await- 
ing thee  in  Petersburg.  Yet  I  feel  that  God  will  deliver 
thee  ;  thou  shalt  see  what  will  happen.'  It  was  revealed 
unto  Vissarion,  the  old  man  who  lives  immured  in  the 
Jaroslav  wall,  that  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a  change.  Either 
the  Tsar  will  die,  or  Petersburg  fall"  And  St.  Demetrius 
appeared  to  the  Bishop  of  Rostov,  Dositheus,  prophesying 
that  there  should  be  tribulations  and  that  the  fulfilment 
will  soon  come. 


88  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  Soon,  soon,"  concluded  Marya,  "  for  many  are  they 
who  cry  :    '  Revenge,  O  Lord!  and  speed  Thy  fulfilment.'  " 

Alexis  knew'  that  the  fulfilment  meant  his  father's 
death. 

"  Remember  my  words,"  she  cried  with  prophetic  voice. 
"  Not  for  long  will  Petersburg  exist  !  it  will  soon  perish." 
And  looking  out  of  the  window  upon  the  small  white  houses 
among  the  green  marshes,  she  repeated  malignantly  :  "  Sink 
it  !  Woe  to  it  !  Let  it  sink  back  thither  whence  it  came,  the 
devil's  bog.  Sprung  up  like  a  toadstool,  it  will  rot  like  one. 
Not  even  its  site  will  be  known,  the  damned  place  !  " 

The  old  crow  was  started  on  her  cawing. 

"  Old  woman's  tales,"  said  Alexis,  waving  his  hand  hope- 
lessly ;  "we  have  heard  not  a  few  of  such  prophecies  and 
they  have  all  turned  out  to  be  rubbish." 

She  was  going  to  reply,  but  glancing  at  him  with  her 
sharp  piercing  eye,  she  said  :  — 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  Tsarevitch  ?  Are  you  ill  ? 
have  you  been  drinking  ?  " 

"  I  am  forced  to  it.  The  day  before  yesterday  at  a 
formal  launching,  they  carried  me  out  senseless.  I  would 
much  rather  have  been  a  convict  in  exile  or  ill  in  bed  than 
there  !  " 

"  You  should  take  medicine  or  feign  illness  to  escape  such 
launchings  ?  seeing  you  know  your  father's  ways." 

Alexis  remained  silent,  then  he  sighed  heavily  :  "  Ah 
Marya  !  Marya  !  I  am  much  troubled.  I  hardly  know 
what  to  do  with  myself,  so  troubled  am  L  No  man  could 
stand  this  without  God's  help.  I  would  be  glad  to  hide 
myself  somewhere,  run  away  from  all  this." 

"  Where  can  you  escape  from  your  father  ?  his  arm  is 
long.     You  will  be  found  out  anywhere." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  continued  Alexis,  "  that  I  did  not  follow 
Kikin's  advice  and  go  to  France  or  to  the  Emperor.  There 
my  life  would  be  more  peaceful,  till  God  wills  otherwise. 
Many  in  my  position  have  found  refuge  in  flight  ;  only 
there  is  no  pretext  for  going  away.  I  really  don't  know 
what  will  become  of  me,  auntie  dear ;  I  want  nothing,  only 
give  me  freedom  and  let  me  live  quietly.  Or  that  they 
should  give  me  leave  to  become  a  monk.  I  would  abdi- 
cate the  throne,  and  would  live  in  retirement   away  from 


ANTICHRIST  89 

everything.  I  would  choose  some  quiet,  plain  country 
seat,  and  there  end  my  days." 

"  Enough,  enough,  Alexis  !  the  Tsar  is  not  immortal 
after  all.  He  too  will  die  in  God's  good  time.  They  say 
he  suffers  from  epileptic  fits ;  such  people  never  live  long. 
God  will  grant  the  end.  I  feel  sure  it  won't  tarry  much 
longer.  Wait,  I  say — the  time  of  our  rejoicing  will  also 
come.  You  are  beloved  by  the  people,  they  drink  your 
health,  calling  you  Russia's  Hope.  The  crown  will  not  pass 
you  by." 

"  What  is  the  good  of  it,  Marya  ?  I  believe  it  is  my  fate 
in  any  case  to  be  a  monk.  Nothing  awaits  me  but  the  cowl, 
either  in  my  father's  life,  or  later  after  his  death,  when 
they  will  treat  me  as  they  did  Basil  Shuisky,  who  was 
forced  to  become  a  monk,  and  then  imprisoned.  My  life  is 
likely  to  be  a  gloomy  business." 

"  How  can  we  help  it  ?  One  hour's  suffering  and  the 
issue  is  a  whole  life.     Be  patient,  Alexis." 

"  I  have  borne  it  patiently  for  a  long  while,  I  can  no 
more,"  he  burst  out,  unable  to  contain  himself  any  longer. 
His  face  had  grown  pale  and  convulsed.  "  Would  it  had  an 
end !  This  weariness  is  worse  than  death  ;  my  head  seems 
to  be  always  on  the  edge  of  the  block.     And  why  all  this, 

0  Lord  ?  What  have  I  done  to  him  ?  Did  I  not  try  my 
very  best  to  please  my  father  ?  When  quite  a  child  I  was 
dragged  about  on  campaigns,  half  killed  with  work,  made 
to  do  sentry  duty  in  the  frost,  drink  vodka  till  my  head 
swam,  I  wonder  I  came  out  of  it  alive.  I  bore  it  all  pati- 
ently. I  spared  neither  health  nor  life.  And  he  never  even 
pitied,  not  even  so  much  as  addressed  a  kind  word  to  me. 
He  is  always  angry,  and  looks  as  fierce  as  a  beast.  It  makes 
no  difference  what  you  do  for  him.  If  you  tore  yourself  in 
two,  all  he  would  say  would  be,  '  Why  not  in  four  ?  '  Well, 
never  mind,  put  it  down  to  my  fault,  let  it  be  granted  that 

1  disappoint  him.  Who  is  responsible  for  it  that  I  was 
born  such  as  I  am  ?  I  am  not  a  fool  by  nature,  and  he 
knows  it.  Were  I  a  fool,  I  would  have  a  little  better  life. 
But  I  live  according  to  my  own  lights,  not  his  He  cares 
nothing  for  the  people,  I  sympathize  with  the  people.  That 
is  the  reason  why  I  am  in  disgrace.  'Do  not  do  the  good 
you  would,  but  the  evil  I  will.'   Two  men  in  the  world  are 


go  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

like  unto  God  :  The  Muscovy  Tsar  and  the  Pope  of  Rome — 
their  will  is  their  law.  I  would  not  mind  if  this  were  all  ; 
in  old  days  he  used  to  scold  and  beat  me,  yet  it  always 
seemed  that  he  considered  me  ;  that  I  was  not  quite  a 
stranger  to  him.  But  do  you  know  what  he  has  devised 
of  late  ?  He  neither  scolds,  nor  beats  me,  not  even  touches 
me  ;  all  he  does,  is  to  remain  silent.  I  talk  to  him  ;  he  neither 
heeds  nor  sees,  but  looks  past  me,  as  if  I  did  not  exist.  And 
this  lasts  for  months,  years  !  I  am  no  longer  a  human  being 
in  his  eyes,  but  some  creature  worse  than  a  dog.  Now,  is 
this  fair  ?  After  all  I  am  his  son,  his  flesh  and  blood.  Even 
the  serpent  does  not  eat  its  young.  He  has  no  fear  of  God. 
I  know  what  it  is  he  wants — my  death.  To  me  he  is  not  a 
father,  but  a  monster,  a  blood-sucker,  a  torturer.  Ay, 
it  would  have  been  better  if  he  had  killed  me  at  once.  And 
what  does  all  this  mean  ?  O  Lord  !  what  is  he  trying  to  do 
with  me  ?     What  ?  " 

He  was  going  to  add  something,  but  his  voice  broke  ;  all 
he  could  do  was  to  falter  faintly  "  O  Lord  !     Lord  !  " 

He  dropped  his  arms  on  the  table,  covered  his  face  and 
pressed  his  head  between  the  palms  of  his  hand  ;  he  did  not 
weep,  only  seemed  to  sink  down,  shrink  and  contract,  as 
from  some  severe  inward  pain,  and  a  convulsive  tearless 
sob  shook  his  whole  frame. 

Tsarevna  Marya  bent  over  him  ;  on  his  shoulder  she  laid 
her  small  white,  firm,  powerful  hand  ;  the  Tsarevna  Sophia 
had  hands  just  like  these. 

"  Don't  be  fainthearted,  Tsarevitch,"  said  she,  with  gentle 
severity  in  her  kind  voice.  "  Do  not  murmur  against  God. 
Remember  Job  !  It  is  good  to  trust  in  the  Lord,  for  our 
life  and  going  forth  are  in  His  hand.  He  can  turn  evil  into 
good.  When  God  is  with  me  what  can  men  do  unto  me  ? 
Though  an  host  should  encamp  against  me,  my  heart  shall 
not  fear,  for  the  Lord  will  not  forsake  me  !  Trust  in  Christ, 
my  darling  Aliosha !  He  will  not  suffer  you  to  be  tempted 
above  that  ye  are  able  to  bear." 

She  stopped  ;  and  he  too  had  grown  quiet  under  the  touch 
of  this  fond,  firm  hand,  and  the  sound  of  these  old,  familiar 
pious  words. 

Somebody  knocked  at  the  door.  In  came  Soundouleya 
Vahrameyevna  sent  by  the  Tsaritsa  Martha  to  fetch  them. 


ANTICHRIST  91 

Alexis  raised  his  head  ;  his  face  though  very  pale  was 
almost  calm.  He  glanced  at  the  image  and  the  faintly 
glimmering  lamp,  crossed  himself  piously,  and  said  : — 

"  You  are  right,  aunt ;  God's  will  worketh  in  all  things. 
Moved  by  the  prayers  of  the  Holy  Virgin  and  all  the  Saints, 
God  will  judge  between  us  according  to  His  righteous  will. 
This  was,  and  is,  my  hope." 

"Amen!  "  said  Marya.  They  got  up  and  together  went 
into  the  Tsaritsa  Martha's  private  apartments. 


CHAPTER    IV 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  sunny  day,  it  was  quite 
dark  in  the  room,  and  the  candles  were  burning. 
Not  a  ray  could  find  its  way  through  the  windows,  blocked 
up  with  felt,  hung  with  tapestries.  The  close  air  was  satu- 
rated with  calamite,  yarrow  brandy,  rose  water,  and 
perfumes  added  to  the  fuel  for  scent.  The  room  was 
crowded  with  seats,  dressers,  cupboards,  boxes,  hampers, 
chests,  coffers,  treasure  chests  bound  with  strips  of  iron, 
cypress-wood  trunks  filled  with  various  furs,  dresses  and 
linen  :  "  the  white  treasury."  In  the  middle  of  the  room 
towered  the  Tsaritsa's  bed,  overhung  by  a  canopy,  the 
bed-curtain  made  of  red  satin,  interwoven  with  a  pale  green 
and  gold  design,  with  a  quilt  of  gold  embossed  tissue,  lined 
with  sable  and  surrounded  by  a  border  of  ermine.  Every- 
thing was  sumptuous,  but  old,  worn  and  dilapidated, 
and  looked  as  though  it  would  crumble  into  dust  at 
the  first  breath  of  fresh  air.  Through  the  open  door  a 
glimpse  of  the  private  chapel  could  be  caught  ;  it  was 
flooded  by  the  light  of  lamps,  which  burned  before  the 
images,  trimmed  with  gold  and  silver,  and  studded  with 
priceless  gems.  Here  numerous  reUcs  were  kept  :  crosses, 
panagias,  triptychs,  little  boxes,  shrines  with  relics,  myrrh, 
leaven,  miracle-working  ointments,  holy  water  in  waxed 
cloths,  saucers  of  cassia  ;  holy  chrism  in  lead  vessels,  blessed 
by  Patriarchs  ;  tapers  lit  with  fire  from  heaven  ;  sand  from 
the  Jordan  ;  bits  of  the  burning  bush,  and  the  oak  of 
Mamre  ;  some  of  the  Holy  Virgin's  milk  ;  an  azure  stone — 
part  of  the  sky  on  which  Christ  had  stood  ;  a  stone  in  a  cloth 
case  "  diffusing  a  perfume,  but  what  sort  of  stone  is  un- 
known." Other  treasures  were  the  leg  wrappers  of  Paph- 
nuti  Borovsky  ;    a  tooth  of  Antipas  the  Great,  a  charm 


ANTICHRIST  93 

against  toothache  which  Ivan  the  Terrible  had  appropri- 
ated from  the  reliquary  of  his  murdered  son. 

Tsaritsa  Martha  was  sitting  near  the  bed,  in  a  gilt  arm- 
chair, which  resembled  a  throne,  with  a  double-crested 
eagle  and  crown  carved  on  the  back.  Although  the  green 
glazed  stove,  richly  ornamented  with  festoons  and  mould- 
ings, had  been  well  heated,  the  sickly,  shivering  old  woman 
wrapped  herself  in  a  warm  jacket,  lined  with  Arctic  fox. 
A  pearl  fringe  and  strings  hung  over  her  forehead,  from 
under  the  golden  headgear.  Her  face  was  not  old,  but  it 
seemed  lifeless  as  stone.  According  to  the  old  custom  of 
Muscovy's  Tsaritsas,  white  and  rouge  were  thickly  laid  on 
her  face,  and  made  it  yet  more  lifeless.  Only  the  eyes 
seemed  aHve  ;  they  were  transparently  lucid,  but  with  a 
curious  blind  look  resembling  that  of  night  birds  in  dav- 
light. 

A  monk  sat  at  her  feet  on  the  floor  relating  something 
to  her. 

When  the  Tsarevitch  and  his  aunt  came  in,  the  Tsaritsa 
Martha  greeted  them  kindly,  and  invited  them  to  listen 
to  this  pilgrim  of  God.  He  was  of  small  stature,  and  had 
a  childlike,  cheerful  face  ;  his  voice,  too,  was  cheerful, 
melodious  and  pleasant.  He  was  describing  his  pilgrim- 
ages, the  settlements  of  monks  on  Athos  and  Solovki  ;  he 
compared  the  Russian  monastery  with  the  Greek  and  gave 
the  preference  to  the  Greek. 

"The  monastery  on  Mount  Athos  is  called  the  garden  of 
the  Holy  Virgin,  and  the  Holy  Mother  herself  is  ever  behold- 
ing it  from  the  heavens,  she  provides  for,  and  keeps  it  from 
destruction.  And  with  her  help  the  settlement  flourishes, 
and  brings  forth  visible  and  invisible  fruit  ;  the  visible 
fruit  is  fair,  the  invisible  is  that  of  souls  saved.  And  any 
one,  who  has  once  penetrated  within  the  garden,  the  fore- 
court of  Paradise,  and  has  beheld  its  nature  and  beauty, 
will  not,  I  believe,  have  any  desire  to  leave  it.  The  air  is 
pure,  and  the  high  hills  and  mountains,  the  warmth  and 
light  of  the  sun,  the  variety  of  trees  and  fruits,  and  the 
nearness  of  the  longed-for  land,  Jerusalem,  maintain  a 
perpetual  joy. 

"  The  Solovetzky  Isle  on  the  contrary  inspires  fear  and 
exasperation  ;  it  is  melancholy,  dark,  and  cold  as  Tartarus. 


94  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"There  are  features  about  that  island  which  harm 
the  soul.  Sea-gulls,  white  birds,  live  there  in  great  num- 
bers ;  all  the  summer  long  they  multiply,  breed  and  build 
their  nests  on  the  ground  near  the  paths,  along  which  the 
monks  go  to  church.  And  great  is  the  mischief  caused  by 
these  birds  to  the  monks.  First  they  lose  their  tranquillity. 
Secondly,  watching  the  birds  play  and  flutter  and  pair,  they 
delight  in  it,  and  their  passions  are  aroused.  Thirdly, 
women,  maidens,  and  nuns  often  visit  the  monastery. 

"  Mount  Athos  is  free  from  any  such  temptations  ;  neither 
seagulls  nor  women  come  near  it.  One  woman  only  float- 
ing on  the  wings  of  an  eagle,  the  holy  Church,  soars  over 
that  delightful  desert,  until  the  fulness  of  time  appointed 
by  the  Lord  shall  be  reached ;  and  to  Him  be  glory  for  ever 
and  ever — Amen." 

When  he  had  finished,  the  Tsaritsa  begged  all  to  leave 
the  room,  even  Marya  ;    and  remained  alone  with  Alexis. 

She  scarcely  knew  him,  and  could  not  remember  what 
relationship  existed  between  them  ;  even  his  name  she 
repeatedly  forgot,  and  simply  called  him  grandson.  Yet 
she  loved  and  pitied  him  with  a  strange  prophetic  pity, 
as  if  his  fate,  unknown  to  himself,  were  revealed  to  her. 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  long  time  in  silence,  with  her 
lucid  motionless  gaze,  which  seemed  to  be  dimmed  by  a  film, 
like  the  eyes  of  nightbirds.  Then  she  sadly  smiled,  and 
began  to  gently  stroke  his  face  and  hair  with  her  hand. 

"  My  poor  orphan  !  neither  father  nor  mother  to  protect 
thee !  The  cruel  wolves  will  devour  the  lamb  ;  the  black 
crows  will  peck  the  white  dove  to  death.  I  am  sorry  for 
thee,  my  loved  one  ;   thou  wilt  not  live  long." 

These  wandering  words  of  the  last  Tsaritsa,  who  seemed 
here  in  Petersburg  a  pathetic  phantom  of  ancient  Muscovy, 
this  decaying  splendour,  this  quiet  warm  room,  where  time 
seemed  at  a  standstill,  all  filled  Alexis'  soul  with  the  chill 
of  death,  and  memories  of  his  fair  distant  childhood.  He 
felt  a  sweet  melancholy  pain  gnawing  at  his  heart.  He 
kissed  the  pale  meagre  hand,  with  its  thin  fingers,  from  which 
the  ancient,  heavy  royal  rings  kept  dropping  off.  She  bent 
her  head,  as  if  musing,  turning  over  her  coral  beads  ;  beads 
which  ward  off  evil  spirits,  for  coral  grows  in  the  shape  of  j» 
cross. 


ANTICHRIST  95 

"  Everything,  everything  is  troubled  ;  times  are  grow- 
ing evil !  "  she  again  began  with  increasing  alarm.  "  Have 
you  read,  grandson,  in  the  Scriptures  :  '  Children,  these 
are  the  last  days  ?  Have  you  heard  he  is  coming  and  is 
already  in  the  world  '  ?  This  has  been  said  about  him, 
the  son  of  Perdition.  He  is  already  at  the  threshold,  soon 
will  he  come  in  !  I  can't  tell  whether  I  shall  live  to  see  my 
beloved,  my  fair  sun,  the  pious  Tsar  Fedor.  Could  I  but 
just  look  at  him,  if  only  a  glance  when  he  comes  in  power 
and  glory  to  wage  war  with  the  unfaithful,  and  having 
conquered  them  will  sit  on  the  throne  of  glory,  and  all  the 
people  will  bow  before  him  saying  :  '  Hosanna  !  Blessed  is 
he  who  comes  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  !  '  " 

Her  eyes  brightened  up,  but  in  the  next  moment  a  dull 
film  seemed  to  come  over  them,  like  ashes  over  live 
charcoal. 

"  Ah  !  No,  I  shall  not  live  to  see  him.  I  have  provoked 
God's  wrath.  My  heart  has  a  presentiment  that  trouble 
is  coming.  I  am  sick  at  heart,  grandson.  And  my  dreams 
have  been  ill-omened  of  late." 

She  furtively  glanced  round,  then  bringing  her  lips  to  his 
ear,  she  whispered. 

"  Do  you  know,  grandson,  what  I  dreamt  quite  recently  ? 
Whether  it  was  a  dream  or  a  vision,  I  can't  tell  for  certain, 
but  he,  he,  himself,  none  other  than  himself,  came  to  me." 

"  Who,  Tsaritsa  ?  "  asked  Alexis. 

"  Don't  you  understand  ?  Don't  you  see  it  ?  Listen 
then,  grandson,  how  it  was  I  dreamt  that  dream.  Perhaps 
you  will  then  understand.  It  seemed  to  me,  as  if  I  were 
lying  on  this  very  bed,  as  it  were  expecting  something. 
Suddenly  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  he  appeared.  I  at 
once  recognized  him.  Tall,  stout,  a  short  foreign  coat,  in 
his  mouth  a  pipe  ;  his  face  clean  shaven,  with  whiskers 
like  a  cat.  He  came  up,  looked  at  me  and  remained  silent. 
I  also  kept  silent,  waiting  for  what  would  happen  next ; 

I  felt  so  sick  at  heart,  so  weary 1  tried  to  cross  myself ; 

but  could  not  lift  my  hand  ;  I  tried  to  recite  a  prayer, 
my  tongue  would  not  move.  I  lay  there,  as  if  dead.  He 
took  m.y  hand,  arid  felt  it  ;  I  shuddered.  I  glanced  at  the 
holy  image,  the  image  too  seemed  to  have  taken  a  new 
shape  :  it  was  no  longer  the  blessed  Saviour,  but  an  unclean 


96  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

German,  with  bloated  blue  face,  like  that  of  a  drowned 
man.     And  meanwhile  I  heard  him  sa^'ing  to  me : — 

"  '  You  are  sorely  ill,  Martha.  Would  you  like  me  to  send 
you  my  doctor  ?  Why  are  you  staring  at  me  like  this  ? 
Do  you  not  recognize  me  ?  '  I  answered,  '  How  could  I 
fail  to  recognise  you  ?  I  know  you — I  have  seen  many 
like  you.'  '  Well,  if  you  know  me  tell  me  who  I  am,'  said 
he.  '  There  is  no  mistaking  who  you  are  :  a  foreigner, 
a  foreigner's  son,  a  drummer.'  Upon  this  he  grinned  and 
chuckled  like  a  mad  tom  cat.  '  You  are  completely  gone 
mad,  old  woman,  that  is  quite  evident.  I  am  neither  a  for- 
eigner, nor  a  drummer,  but  the  divinely  anointed  Tsar  of 
all  the  Russias,  your  own  dead  husband's,  the  Tsar  Fedor's, 
step-brother.'  Now  I  was  roused,  I  could  hardly  restrain 
myself  from  spitting  in  his  face,  and  calling  :  '  Thou  dog  ! 
cur's  pup  ;  pretender,  Gregory  Otriopieff,  anathema,  this 
is  who  thou  art!'  But  then,  '  it  isn't  worth  while,' 
thought  I,  '  why  shouldT  rail  at  him  ?  He  is  not  even  worth 
spitting  on.  It  is  but  a  dream,  an  evil  apparition,  which  by 
God's  will,  I  am  now  enduring.  I'll  just  blow  with  my  lips 
and  it  will  all  disappear  and  disperse.'  '  And  if  you  are 
the  Tsar,'  said  I,  '  What  is  your  name  ?  ' 

"  '  Peter  is  my  name,'  he  answered.  When  I  heard  the 
name  '  Peter,'  it  was  as  though  a  light  had  flashed  upon 
me.  '  Ah  !  '  thought  I,  '  is  this  who  you  are  ?  well,  just 
wait.'  And  seeing  my  tongue  would  not  move,  I,  not  being 
a  fool,  began  in  my  mind  to   recite   the   holy   adjuration. 

"  '  Satan  !  thou  fiend,  get  thee  away  from  me,  into  empty 
space,  thick  forests,  deep  precipices,  into  bottomless  seas, 
upon  prodigious,  uninhat)ited  hills,  on  which  the  glory  of 
God's  face  never  shines.  Cursed  !  disappear  from  me  into 
Tartarus,  bottomless  hell,  the  infernal  regions  of  Gehenna. 
Amen  !  Amen  !  Amen  !  I  blow  at  thee,  I  spit  on  thee.' 
When  I  had  finished  my  imprecation,  he  had  disappeared  : 
the  earth  seemed  to  have  engulfed  him,  not  a  trace  of  him 
was  left,  only  a  smell  of  tobacco.  I  awoke,  cried  out.  In 
hurried  Soundouleya  Vahrameyevna,  sprinkled  me  with 
holy  water,  burnt  some  incense  ;  I  got  up,  walked  into 
the  chapel,  fell  down  before  the  holy  Queen,  only  then 
having  remembered  and  thought  it  over,  I  reahzed  who 
he  had  been." 


ANTICHRIST  97 

While  she  was  speaking  the  Tsarevitch  gradually  realised 
that  it  was  his  father  who  had  been  to  see  her,  not  in  a 
dream,  but  in  reahty.  At  the  same  time  the  maun- 
dering of  the  woman  seemed  to  catch  hold  of  and  infect 
him. 

"  Well,  and  who  was  it,  Tsaritsa?"  he  repeated  with  a 
trembling  yet  eager  curiosity. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  Have  you  forgotten  what  is  said 
in  Ephraim's  book,  about  the  second  coming,  '  there  shall 
come  a  proud  prince  of  this  world,  under  the  name  of  Simon 
Peter,  who  shall  be  the  Antichrist.'  Do  you  hear,  his  name 
is   Peter?     It   is  he   Himself,   no  doubt." 

She  fixed  on  him  her  e\-es  dilated  with  fear,  and  repeated 
in  a  choking  whisper:  "  It  is  he,  himself,  Peter!  the  Anti- 
christ, the  Antichrist!" 


Book  III 

THE   PRIVATE   JOURNAL   OF   THE 
TSAREVITCH   ALEXIS 

CHAPTER   I 

THE     DIARY     OF     FRAULEIN     ARNHEIM,     MAID     OF     HONOUR 

May  I,  1714. 

A  CURSED  country,  a  cursed  people  !  Brandy,  blood, 
and  dirt  !  It  is  difficult  to  say  which  is  the  ruling 
characteristic.  Dirt,  perhaps.  The  Danish  King  had 
good  reason  to  say  :  "  The  next  time  ambassadors  from 
Muscovy  come  to  me,  I  will  have  pig-sheds  erected  for 
them,  for  any  place  they  occupy,  even  a  short  time,  is 
rendered  uninhabitable  for  at  least  six  months  by  the 
stench.  A  Frenchman  describes  the  Muscovite  as  a  human 
being  according  to  Plato  ;  a  featherless  biped  possessing 
all  human  qualities  except  cleanliness  and  common  sense. 

And  these  stinking  savages,  these  baptized  bears,  more 
pitiable  still  when  changed  into  apes  of  Europeans,  con- 
sider themselves  the  only  human  beings,  the  rest  of  man- 
kind beasts.  Especially  for  us  Germans  they  feel  an 
inborn  and  invincible  hatred ;  our  touch  alone  defiles 
them.  Lutherans  are  little  better  than  Satan  himself  in 
their  eyes.  I  would  not  remain  another  moment  in  Russia 
were  it  not  for  my  duty  of  loyalty,  and  devotion  to  her 
Highness,  my  most  gracious  mistress  and  dear  friend,  the 
Crown  Princess  Sophia  Charlotte.  Whatever  may  happen, 
I  will  not  forsake  her  ! 

I  will  write  this  diary  in  the  languages  I  usually  speak, 
German  and  French.     But  some  of  the  jokes,  proverbs, 


100  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

songs,  text  of  ukases  and  bits  of  conversation,  I  will  give 
in  Russian  and  afterwards  translate  them. 

My  father,  a  pure  German,  belongs  to  an  ancient  family 
of  Saxon  Knights.  My  mother  was  a  Pole.  With  her 
first  husband,  a  Polish  nobleman,  she  had  lived  for  a  long 
time  in  Russia,  not  far  from  Smolensk,  and  knew  the  Russian 
language  well.  I  was  brought  up  in  Torgau,  at  the  court  of 
the  Queen  of  Poland,  which  was  frequented  by  many 
Muscovites.  I  have  been  familiar  with  the  sound  of  Rus- 
sian speech  since  my  childhood.  I  speak  badly  ;  I  don't 
like  the  language,  but  understand  it  well. 

I  have  decided  to  keep  a  diary  in  order  to  ease  my 
heart,  when  it  is  too  heavy  :  imitating  the  talker  of  old, 
who,  not  daring  to  confide  his  secret  to  people,  whispered 
it   to   the   marsh-reeds. 

I  should  not  like  these  notes  ever  to  become  public,  but 
I  rejoice  to  think  that  they  will  one  day  be  read  by  a  man 
whose  opinion  I  value  more  than  anything  else  in  the 
world — that  of  my  great  teacher,  Gottfried  Leibnitz. 

4c  4:  4c  :4c  * 

His  letter  came  just  as  I  was  thinking  about  him.  He 
asks  me  to  find  out  about  the  salary  which  he  claims  on  the 
strength  of  his  position  in  the  Russian  service,  as  Geheimer 
Justiz-Rath.  I  fear  he  will  never  see  the  money.  Reading 
his  letter  I  almost  wept  for  joy  and  sadness,  when  I  remem- 
bered our  quiet  walks  and  talks  in  the  galleries  of  the 
Salzdallen  Castle,  along  the  lime  avenues  of  Herrenhausen, 
where  the  gentle  breezes  among  the  trees  and  the  murmur 
of  fountains  seemed  to  be  ever  singing  our  favourite  song 
from  "  The  Mercure  Galant." 

"  Chantons,  danQons,  tout  est  tranquille 
Dans  cet  agrcable  sejour. 
Ah  !  le  charmant  asile  ! 
N'y  parlons  que  de  jeux,  de  plaisirs  et  d'amours." 

I  remembered  the  teacher's  words  which  at  that  time  I 
almost  believed  :  "  I  am  a  Slav  as  you  are  ;  we  ought  to 
rejoice  that  we  have  Slavonic  blood  in  our  veins.  A  great 
destiny  awaits  the  race.  Russia  will  link  Europe  to  Asia 
and  reconcile  the  East  and  the  West.     This  country  is 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    loi 

like  a  new  stewpot  which  has  not  yet  absorbed  any  foreign 
flavour  ;  a  sheet  of  white  paper,  whereon  you  can  write 
anything  you  Hke  ;  virgin  soil  which  will  be  broken  up, 
and  ploughed  to  receive  new  seed.  Russia  might  in  time 
even  lead  Europe,  since  she  may  avoid  those  errors  which 
are  too  deeply  rooted  in  us."  An  inspired  look  lit  uj)  his 
face  as  he  concluded,  "  I  seem  called  by  Providence  to  be  a 
Russian  Solon — the  lawgiver  of  a  new  world.  To  gain 
supremacy  over  the  mind  of  such  a  man  as  the  Tsar,  and 
direct  it  for  the  good  of  the  people  is  of  more  worth  than 
the  gaining  of  a  hundred  battles." 

Alas  !  My  poor  great  dreamer  !  Could  you  but  know 
and  see  all  I  have  learnt  and  seen  in  Russia  ! 

Even  now  as  I  am  writing,  sad  and  stark  reality  reminds 
me  that  I  am  no  longer  in  the  delightful  refuge  at  Herren- 
hausen,  that  German  Versailles,  but  in  the  depth  of  Mus- 
covite Tartary. 

Through  the  window,  screams,  shouts,  and  quarrellings 
reach  me  from  below  ;  the  servants  of  our  neighbour. 
Princess  Natalia,  are  fighting  ours  ;  Russians  fighting 
Germans.  I  see,  alas  !  the  union  between  Asia  and  Europe, 
the  East  and  the  West,  as  it  really  is. 

In  ran  our  secretary,  pale  and  trembling,  his  dress  in 
tatters,  his  face  bleeding.  On  seeing  him  the  Crown 
Princess  almost  swooned.  The  Tsarevitch  was  sent  for, 
but  he  was  suffering  from  his  habitual  complaint — drunken- 
ness. 

May  2. 
We  occupy  the  palace  of  the  Crown  Prince  Alexis,  situated 
on  the  banks  of  the  Neva,  a  whitewashed,  two-storied  house 
with  a  red-tiled  roof.  The  accommodation  is  so  limited 
that  nearly  the  whole  of  her  Highness's  retinue  had  to  be 
lodged  in  the  neighbouring  houses,  hired  by  the  Senate 
for  that  purpose.  One  of  them  had  neither  doors,  windows, 
stoves,  nor  furniture  of  any  sort.  Her  Highness  was 
obliged  to  finish  it  at  her  own  expense,  and  add  stables  to  it. 

Yesterday,  the  proprietor  of  the  house,  a  certain  Gedeo- 
noff,  returned  ;  he  is  in  Tsarevna  Natalia's  service  :  he 
ordered  our  servants  to  be  turned  out,  and  our  things  to  be 
thrown  into  the  yard.  Then  he  began  to  lead  her  High- 
ness's horses  out  of  the  stables  and  put  in  his  own  instead. 


102  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  Crown  Princess  ordered  the  stables  to  be  taken  down 
so  as  to  remove  them  to  another  place.  But  when  the 
Stallmeister  brought  the  workmen,  Gedeonoff  sent  some 
of  his,  who  beat  ours  and  chased  them  away.  When  the 
Stallmeister  threatened  to  report  this  to  the  Tsar,  Gedeonoff 
answered  laughingly  :  "  Report  as  much  as  you  like  ;  I 
will  forestall  you  !  " 

But  worst  of  all  is  the  fact  that  he  assures  us,  he  does 
everything  by  order  of  the  Tsarevna.  This  Tsarevna  is  an 
old  maid,  and  the  vilest  tempered  creature  in  the  world. 
She  is  very  amiable  to  our  face,  but  when  our  back  is 
turned,  every  time  her  Highness's  name  is  mentioned  she 
spits,  saying  :  "  The  German  minx  !  what  airs  she  gives 
herself !  The  time  will  come  when  she  will  have  to  culti- 
vate a  little  modesty  !  " 

Thus  our  grooms  are  obliged  to  sleep  in  the  open.  So 
limited  is  the  accommodation  in  the  whole  town  that  the 
men  could  not  be  lodged  elsewhere,  even  for  a  hundred 
pieces  of  gold.  When  this  is  mentioned  to  the  Tsar,  all  he 
replies  is,  that  in  a  few  years  time  there  will  be  houses 
enough.  But  they  won't  be  needed  then,  at  least  not  for 
our  people,  who,  for  the  most  part,  will  probably  have 
died. 

They  would  not  believe  in  Europe  if  they  knew  what 
poverty  is  ours.  The  money  for  the  maintenance  of  the 
Crown  Princess  is  paid  so  irregularly  and  scantily  that  it 
never  suffices.  At  the  same  time  everything  is  frightfully 
dear  here  ;  we  have  to  pay  for  things  four  times  as  much  as 
in  Germany.  We  are  in  debt  to  all  our  tradesmen  ;  they 
will  soon  stop  supplying  us.  To  say  nothing  of 
servants,  we  ourselves  are  sometimes  short  of  candles, 
firewood,  even  food.  Nothing  can  be  got  out  of  the  Tsar, 
he  is  always  busy.  The  Tsarevitch  is  always  drunk.  "  The 
world  is  full  of  misery,"  her  Highness  said  to  me  to-day, 
"  ever  since  the  age  of  six  I  have  known  no  happiness,  and 
no  doubt  Providence  has  still  greater  misfortunes  in  store 
for  me."  With  an  absent  look,  as  if  she  already  beheld 
this  future,  she  rej^eated  :  "  I  shall  not  escape  it,"  and  with 
such  calm  resignation  that  I  found  no  words  to  comfort 
her  and  could  only  silently  kiss  her  hand. 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    103 

Suddenly  a  cannon  shot  was  heard.  We  were  obhged  to 
make  haste  and  get  ready  for  a  pleasure  party  on  the  Neva, 
a    "  Water  Assembly." 

It  is  the  custom  here,  on  hearing  the  gun  signal  or  seeing 
the  flags  hung  out  at  different  parts  of  the  town,  for  all 
barges,  5'achts,  wherries,  boyers,  to  assemble  at  the  fortress, 
A  fine  is  imposed  for  non-appearance. 

We  set  out  at  once  in  our  boyer  with  ten  oarsmen. 
Together  with  other  boats  we  kept  rowing  for  a  long  time 
up  and  down  the  Neva,  always  following  the  Admiral, 
daring  neither  to  lag  behind  nor  overtake,  for  fear  of  being 
fined.     Fines  are  imposed  here  for  everything. 

There  was  music  ;  a  band  of  trumpets  and  cornets. 
The  bastions  of  the  fortress  re-echoed  the  sounds  of  the 
music. 

We  were  sad  as  the  music  was,  and  the  cold,  pale  blue 
river  with  its  flat  banks,  the  pale  blue  sky, transparent  as  ice, 
the  gleam  of  the  golden  pinnacle  on  the  Church  of  St.  Peter 
and  Paul,  (built  of  wood,  but  painted  yellow  to  suggest 
marble,)  the  melancholy  chiming  of  the  striking  clocks,  all 
intensified  our  dejection,  which  was  of  quite  a  different 
nature  from  anything  I  had  hitherto  experienced,  except 
in  this  city. 

And  yet  the  view  is  pleasing  enough.  Along  the  low 
quay,  paved  with  black  tarred  piles,  runs  a  line  of  pale 
pink  brick  houses  of  elaborate  design,  resembling  Dutch 
churches  with  pointed  turrets,  garret  windows  on  the 
high  roofs,  and  spacious  latticed  vestibules.  You  might 
fancy  a  real  town  lay  behind  them.  But  next  behind  them 
stand  poor  huts  roofed  with  birch-bark  and  turf,  and, 
further  back,  a  wilderness  inhabited  by  wolves  and  deer. 
On  the  sea  front,  windmills  just  as  in  Holland.  Every- 
thing is  bright,  almost  dazzling,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
pale  and  cheerless.  It  seems  to  be  run  up,  made  iust  for 
the  time  being.     It  is  a  phantom  town,  a  dream. 

The  Tsar  with  all  his  family  were  in  a  special  boyer ;  he 
stood  at  the  rudder  and  steered.  The  Tsaritsa  and  Prin- 
cesses wore  dimity  jackets,  red  skirts,  round  oil-skin  caps, 
everything  after  the  Dutch  fashion — they  looked  like 
real  sailors'  wives  from  Saardam.  "  I  am  inuring  my 
family  to  the  water ;  those  who  want  to  live  with  me  must 


104  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

not  be  afraid  of  water,"  said  Peter.  He  generally  takes 
them  with  him  ;  especially  in  cold  weather.  He  locks 
them  in  a  cabin  and  steers  the  whole  time  against  the  wind, 
until  he  has  well  rocked  them,  and  "  salvo  honore,"  made 
them  sea  sick  ;   then  only  is  he  content  ! 

We  were  afraid  lest  it  might  be  decided  to  go  to  Kronslot. 
Those  who  took  part  in  one  such  excursion  last  year  (they 
think  of  it  with  terror  even  to  this  day),  were  overtaken  by 
a  storm,  and  narrowly  escaped  drowning  ;  then  they  went 
aground  fast  on  a  sand  bank,  and  remained  there  for 
several  hours  up  to  the  waist  in  water.  At  last 
they  succeeded  in  reaching  an  island,  a  fire  was  made,  and, 
quite  naked  (they  had  been  obliged  to  take  their  wet 
clothes  off),  wrapped  themselves  in  coarse  sledge  covers 
obtained  from  the  peasants,  and  in  this  way  they  spent  a 
whole  night,  warming  themselves  at  the  fire,  without  drink 
or  food — new  Robinson  Crusoes. 

But  this  time  Providence  favoured  us ;  the  red  standard 
on  the  Admiral's  boyer  was  lowered,- a  sign  that  the  excur- 
sion was  over. 

We  returned  along  the  canals,  viewing  the  town. 
Canals  are  very  numerous  here.  "  God  grant  me  a  long 
life,  and  Petersburg  will  become  a  second  Amsterdam ! " 
boasts  the  Tsar.  "  Arrange  everything  as  it  is  done  in 
Holland,"  these  are  common  words  in  the  Tsar's  ukases,  in 
reference  to  the  building  of  the  town.  The  Tsar  has  a  pas- 
sion for  straight  lines,  everything  that  is  straight  and 
regular  seems  beautiful  to  him.  If  it  were  possible  he 
would  have  had  the  whole  town  built  according  to  rule  and 
compass.  The  inhabitants  are  urged  to  build  in  lines,  no 
building  either  to  exceed  or  fall  short  of  a  fixed  line,  so 
that  the  streets  and  lanes  may  all  be  regular  and  straight. 
Houses  which  go  beyond  the  line  are  ruthlessly  pulled 
down. 

The  Tsar's  pride  is  the  interminably  long,  straight 
Nevsky  Prospect,  which  cuts  through  the  town.  The 
street  is  still  quite  waste  amid  solitary  marshes,  yet  it  is 
already  planted  with  three  or  four  rows  of  lime-trees, 
like  an  avenue.  It  is  kept  very  clean,  being  swept  every 
Saturday  by  captive  Swedes. 

Many  of  these  geometrical  lines  of  imaginary  streets 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   105 

are  alrnost  without  houses.  Waymarks  alone  stand 
there  ;  others,  already  built  on,  bear  traces  of  the  plough 
and  furrows  of  recent  cultivation. 

Though  the  houses  are  erected  of  brick,  according  to 
Vitruvius'  directions,  yet  so  hurried  and  precarious  has  been 
the  work  that  they  threaten  to  fall.  When  a  carriage 
passes  they  tremble.  The  swampy  soil  has  no  resistance. 
The  Tsar's  enemies  predict  that  some  time  the  whole  town 
will    be   engulphed. 

One  of  our  companions,  the  old  Baron  Loewenwold,  the 
High  Commissioner  of  Livonia,  an  amiable  and  clever 
man,  told  us  a  number  of  curious  incidents  about  the 
beginning  of  the  town.  In  order  to  raise  the  first  earth 
rampart  of  the  Peter  and  Paul  fortress,  dry  earth  was 
needed  ;  none  was  to  be  had  anywhere  near,  all  being 
marsh,  mud  and  moss.  Then  they  devised  the  plan  of 
carrying  the  soil  for  the  bastions  from  distant  places  in  old 
bast  sacks  and  mats,  or  even  simply  in  the  skirts  of  their 
tunics.  At  this  Sisyphean  labour  two-thirds  of  the  poor 
wretches  perished  ;  more  especially  in  consequence  of  the 
godless  peculation  and  faithlessness  of  those  in  whose 
keeping  they  were.  For  months  they  never  saw  any  bread, 
which  is  often  difficult  to  procure  even  for  money  in  this 
forlorn  place.  They  lived  on  cabbage  and  turnips,  suffered 
from  dia'-hoea  and  scurvy,  s\\^elled  with  hunger,  froze  in 
their  earth ^a  hibitats,  whi  h  resembled  the  holes  of  ani- 
mals, and  died  like  flies.  The  erection  of  the  fortress  on 
the  Plea^.ure  Island  (appropriate  name  !)  cost  the  lives  of 
hundreds  of  thousands  who  were  driven  here  by  force 
like  cattle  from  all  parts  of  Russia.  In  fact  this  unna- 
tural city,  this  pleasant  "  Paradise,"  as  the  Tsar  called  it,  is 
built  on  human  bones  !  They  pay  no  ceremonies  here  either 
to  the  living  or  the  dead.  I  myself  have  seen  in  various 
parts  of  the  town  the  body  of  a  workman  wrapped  in  a  mat, 
carried  on  a  pole  by  men.  or,  bare  as  it  was,  simply  laid  on  a 
sledge  and  taken  to  lh^  cemetery,  where  it  was  buried 
without  any  rite.  Su'h  a  number  of  Ih?  poor  folk  die  here 
daily  that  there  is  no  time  to  give  'hem  all  Christian  burial. 

One  hot  summer  day,  rowing  on  the  Neva,  we  noticed 
grey  patches  on  the  azure  surface  ;  they  turned  out  to  be 
masses  of  dead  midges — which  abound  in  the  neighbouring 


io6  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

marshes.  These  came  from  Lake  Ladoga.  One  of  the 
oarsmen  scooped  up  a  hatful  of  them. 

While  listening  to  Loewenwold's  tales  about  the  building 
of  Petersburg  I  closed  my  eyes,  and  before  me  rose  a  vision 
of  countless  human  bodies,  very  grey  and  small,  like 
these  masses  of  dead  midges  floating  on  the  Neva,  a  mass 
without  beginning  or  end,  of  persons  whom  nobody  knows 
and  nobody  remembers. 

On  my  return  home  I  sat  down  to  write  this  diary  in  my 
small  room,  a  veritable  bird's  cage,  in  the  attic,  just  below 
the  roof. 

It  felt  close,  I  opened  the  window,  in  rushed  the  smell  of 
spring,  also  of  tar  and  pine  shavings.  On  the  banks  of  the 
Neva  two  carpenters,  a  young  man  and  an  old  one,  were 
repairing  a  boat.  Nothing  but  the  hammering  was  heard, 
and  the  monotonous  melancholy  song  which  the  younger 
man  was  singing  over  and  over  again.  Here  are  the  few 
words  I  was  able  to  catch  : 

In  the  town  Saint  Petersburg 
On  the  river  Neva, 
On  the  glorious  Basil  Isle, 
A  sailor  rigged  his  ship,  O  ! 

Gazing  up  towards  the  evening  sky,  pale  green,  trans- 
parent and  cold  as  ice,  I  listened  to  this  melancholy  song,  so 
like  a  wail,  and  myself  was  moved  almost  to  tears. 

May  3. 

To-day  hsr  Hi  dmess  went  to  see  the  Tsaritsa  ;  she  com- 
plained about  Gedeonoff,  and  also  asked  for  a  more  regular 
payment  of  th^  money.     I  was  present  at  the  interview. 

The  Tsarit  a  was  amiable  as  usual. 

"  Czaaris  h2  Majestat  Euch  sehr  lieb,"  she  said  to  the 
Crown  Princess  in  her  broken  German,  during  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  Believe  me,  his  Majesty  is  very  fond  of  you.  '  Truly 
Catherine,'  said  he,  '  your  daughter-in-law  is  exceedingly 
pleasing  both  in  appearance  and  temperament.'  '  Your 
Majesty,'  said  I,  '  you  love  your  daughter  more  than  me.' 
'  No,'  he  answered  and  laughed,  '  not  more,  but  very  soon  I 
will  love  her  as  much.  My  son,'  said  he,  '  is  really  not 
worthy  of  so  good  a  wife.'  " 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    107 

We  concluded  from  thsse  words  that  the  Tsar  was  not 
over  fond  of  his  son. 

When  her  Highness  almost  tearfully  interceded  for  her 
husband,  the  Tsaritsa  promised  to  be  his  advocate,  always 
with  the  same  amiability,  assuring  her  that  she  loved  her 
as  her  own  child,  and  had  she  carried  her  under  her  heart, 
she  could  not  have  loved  her  better. 

I  don't  like  this  Russian  sentimentality  :  it  is  honey  on 
the  knife's  point. 

Yet  it  appears  that  her  Highness  does  not  deceive  herself ; 
she  once  said  in  my  presence  that  the  Tsaritsa  was  worse 
than  the  rest  :    "  pire  que  tout  le  reste." 

To-day,  coming  home  from  the  interview,  she  remarked, 
"  she  will  never  forgive  me  if  I  bear  a  son." 

One  day  when  our  conversation  had  turned  on  the 
Tsaritsa,  an  old  peasant  woman  whispered  into  my  ear, 
"  She  has  no  business  to  reign  ;  she  was  neither  born  to  it, 
nor  is  she  a  Russian.  And  we  know  how  she  was  taken 
prisoner,  brought  into  the  camp  with  only  a  chemise  on, 
and  given  into  custody.  The  man  on  duty,  our  officer, 
gave  her  a  coat.  The  Lord  alone  knows  of  what  rank  she 
is ;  they  say  she  used  to  wash  shirts  in  Finland." 

I  could  not  help  remembering  this  to-day  when  her 
Highness,  in  greeting  the  Tsaritsa,  was  going  to  stoop  and 
kiss  her  dress,  according  to  court  etiquette.  It  is  true  the 
Tsaritsa  did  not  allow  it  to  come  to  that,  but  herself 
embraced  and  kissed  her.  Yet,  what  an  irony  of  fate,  that 
a  Princess  of  Wolfenbiittel,  heiress  of  the  great  Guelphs, 
who  contested  the  German  Imperial  Crown  in  days  when 
the  houses  of  Hohenzollern  and  Hapsburg  had  never  yet 
been  heard  of,  should  kiss  the  dress  of  this  woman  who 
once  was  a  laundress  ! 

May  4. 

After  warm  sunny  days  it  has  suddenly  turned  wintry 
again,  with  cold  wind,  wet,  snow  and  rain.  Ice  from  the 
Ladoga  is  floating  down  the  Neva.  We  are  told,  however, 
that  snow  falls  here  even  as  late  as  June. 

Our  palace  has  been  so  neglected  that  even  its  roof  has 
proved  unsound  ;  to-night,  during  a  severe  rainfall,  water 
came  through  the  ceiling  in  her  Highness's  bedchamber  ;  a 


io8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

good  thing  it  did  not  come  on  the  bed  ;  but  there  was  a  pool 
on  the  floor. 

The  ceiHng  is  decorated  with  a  painted  allegory  ;  a  burn- 
ing altar  entwined  with  roses  ;  on  both  sides  Cupids  bearing 
two  coats  of  arms  ;  the  Russian  Eagle  and  the  Brunswick 
Steed.  Between  them,  two  clasped  hands  and  the  inscrip- 
tion, "  Non  unquam  junxit  nobiliora  fides."  "  Never  did 
fidelity  join  two  nobler  beings."  The  damp  has  formed  a 
black  spot  just  over  the  altar,  and  cold  dirty  water  kept 
dripping  from  Hymen's  flame. 

I  remembered  the  wedding  speech  made  by  the  archeolo- 
gist  Eckhardt,  in  which  he  tried  to  prove  that  both  bride  and 
bridegroom  descended  from  the  Byzantine  Emperor,  Con- 
stantine  Porphyrogenitus.  A  fine  country,  where  rain 
falls  on  the  nuptial  couch  of  the  descendant  of  the  Porphyro- 
gene  ! 

May  5. 

At  last  the  Crown  Prince  has  appeared.  He  lives  in  the 
other  half  of  the  house,  quite  separate  from  us,  and  often 
weeks  pass  by  without  our  ever  seeing  him.  The  pair  have 
had  a 'scene.'  I  heard  it  all  from  the  adjacent  room  where 
her  Highness  had  expressly  wished  me  to  remain. 

To  all  her  prayers  and  complaints  in  regard  to  the  Gedeo- 
noff  affair  and  the  keeping  back  of  money,  he  answered, 
shrugging  his  shoulders 

"  Mich  nichts  angehn.  Bekijmmere  mich  nicht  an  Sie. 
This  matter  is  no  business  of  mine.  I  do  not  trouble  my- 
self about  your  money  affairs." 

Then  he  burst  out  reproaching  her  for  complaining  to  his 
father  about  him. 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself  ?  "  sobbed  her  High- 
ness. "  Spare  at  least  your  own  honour  !  In  Germany  you 
would  not  find  a  cobbler  or  tailor,  who  would  allow  himself 
thus  to  treat  his  wife." 

"  You  are  no  longer  in  Germany  but  in  Russia." 

"  1  am  only  too  well  aware  of  this.  Yet  if  only  every- 
thing were  carried  out  that  was  promised." 

"  Who  promised  ?  ' 

"  Did  not  \ou  with  the  Tsar  sign  the  marriage  contract  ?  " 

"  Halten  Maul  !     Ich  habe  sie  nichts  versprochen.     Hold 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   109 

your  tongue  !  I  promised  you  nothing.  You  very  \vell 
know  that  you  were  forced  upon  me  !  " 

He  jumped  up;  the  chair  he  had  sat  on  fell  to  the  ground. 

I  almost  rushed  to  her  rescue,  I  was  afraid  he  would 
strike  her.  I  hated  him  to  such  an  extent  at  that  moment, 
that  I  believe  I  could  have  killed  him. 

"  Das  danke  ihnen  der  Henker  !  May  the  headsman 
reward  you  for  this  !"  exclaimed  the  Crown  Princess,  beside 
herself  with  anger  and  sorrow. 

Swearing  at  her  in  an  odious  manner,  he  left  the  room, 
slamming  the  door. 

It  seems  all  that  is  wild  and  base  in  thiscountr\^  is  in- 
carnate in  this  man.  Only  one  thing  I  find  hard  to  decide. 
Which  is  he,  a  fool  or  a  scoundrel  ? 

Poor  Charlotte  !  Her  Highness,  who  daily  shows  me 
greater  friendship,  quite  beyond  my  deserts,  has  herself 
desired  that  T  should  so  call  her.  Poor  Charlotte,  when  1 
came  to  her,  she  threw  herself  into  my  arms,  and  remained 
silent  for  a  long  while,  trembling  all  over.  At  last  she  said 
sobbing  : 

"  If  only  I  were  not  wich  child  and  could,  without  hin- 
drance return  to  Germany,  I  would  gladly  agree  to  live  there 
on  dry  bread  and  water.  I  am  well  nigh  losing  my  reason. 
I  pray  God  to  give  me  strength,  so  that  I  may  not  be  tempted 
to  do  something  desperate  !  " 

And  after  awhile  she  gently  added,  weeping  in  her  wonted 
submissiveness,  which  frightens  me  more  than  oil  her 
despair  : — 

"  I  am  the  unhappy  victim  of  my  family.     They  have 

profited   nothing  from   my   sacrifice,   while   I   myself  am 

slowly  dying  of  grief." 

*         *         * 

We  were  both  crying  when  they  came  to  tell  us  it  was 
time  to  go  to  the  masquerade.  Suppressing  our  tears  we 
bcjan  to  dress.  Such  is  the  custom  here :  willy  nilly,  be 
merry  thou  must. 

The  masquerade  took  place  in  the  open  air  in  the  Troitsky 
Square,  near  the  "  hotellerie."  The  square  is  very  low, 
marshv,  and  covered  with  mud,  which  never  dries  ;  part  of 
it  had  been  covered  with  beams,  and  wooden  planks  on  the 
top  of  these.     On  the  platform  thus  formed  the  masque- 


no  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

raders  crowded.  Happily  the  weather  had  again  suddenly 
changed ;  it  was  a  calm,  warm  evening.  But  towards  night 
a  thick  mist,  white  as  milk,  rose  from  the  river  and  enveloped 
the  square.  Many,  and  especially  those  ladies  who  had  on 
extremely  thin  costumes,  were  catching  cold  from  the  damp, 
and  began  to  sneeze  and  cough.  Instead  of  medicine  they 
were  given  brandy;  grenadiers  as  usual  carried  it  round  in 
buckets.  In  the  white  shroud  of  mist,  illumined  by  the 
greenish  light  of  the  slowly  fading  twilight — later  on  in  July 
twilight  lasts  the  whole  night  through — all  these  masque- 
raders,  harlequins,  pagliazzi,  shepherdesses,  nymphs, 
Chinese,  Arabs,  bears,  cranes,  and  dragons,  seemed  grotes- 
que and  terrible  phantoms. 

Here  also,  close  to  the  platform  on  which  we  were  danc- 
ing, black  posts  with  iron  points  were  visible,  and  on  them 
remained  the  almost  putrefied  heads  of  decapitated  criminals. 
The  stench  from  these  heads  mingled  with  the  resinous 
perfimie  of  young  pine  shoots  and  birch  buds,  which  now 
fills  the  city.  And  again  it  seemed,  as  it  always  does  in  this 
place,  all  was  but  a  mirage  ! 

May  6. 

An  unexpected  reconciliation  !  When  I  .approached  the 
half  open  door,  leading  to  her  Highness's  apartment,  I  saw 
by  chance  in  the  mirror  that  she  was  sitting  in  an  armchair, 
while  the  Crown  Prince,  stooping  over  her  and  holding  her 
head  with  both  his  hands,  was  kissing  her  upon  the  brow 
with  deferential  tenderness.  I  was  going  to  retire,  but  she 
too  caught  sight  of  me  in  the  mirror  and  signed  to  me  with 
her  hand.  I  understood  that  she  wished  me  to  stay,  as  I 
did  last  time,  in  the  next  room.  The  poor  girl  probably 
wantsd  to  parade  her  happiness. 

"  Der  Mensch,  der  sagen,  ich  sie  nicht  lieb  habe,  liigt  wie 
Teufel  "  !  ',  He  who  says,  I  don't  love  you  lies  like  the 
devil  !  "  said  the  Tsarevitch  ;  I  divined  that  they  were 
talking  of  one  of  those  slanders  about  her  Highness,  which 
circulate  here  so  freely,  (she  is  even  accused  of  unfaithful- 
ness to  her  husband).  "I  believe  in  you.  I  know  you  are 
good  ;  and  those  who  speak  evil  about  you  are  not  worth 
your  little  finger." 

He  enquired  after  her  affairs,  her  troubles,  her  health, 
her  condition,  with  such  sympathy,  and  his  words  and 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   iii 

features  were  so  full  of  intelligence  and  kindness  that  he 
seemed  to  me  quite  another  being.  I  could  scarcely  believe 
my  eyes  and  ears,  remembering  what  had  passed  in  the  same 
room  only  yesterday. 

When  he  left  and  we  were  alone,  Charlotte  said  to  me  : 
''  What  a  strange  man  he  is,  not  in  the  least  what  he 
seems.  Nobody  knows  him.  How  he  loves  me  !  Ah,  my 
dear  Juhana,  give  me  love,  and  all  will  be  well,  I  can  endure 
everything  !  And  when  a  child  will  be  born  unto  me,  I 
pray  God  it  may  be  a  son,  I  shall  be  quite  happy  !  " 

I  did  not  answer ;  I  had  not  the  courage  to  undeceive  her ; 
she  was  already  so  happy,  but  for  how  long  ?  poor,  poor 
woman  ! 

Perhaps  I  am  unfair  to  the  Tsarevitch  ?  May  be,  he  is 
really  different  from  what  he  seems. 

He  is  the  most  reserved  of  men.  When  he  is  not  drunk, 
he  sits  buried  among  his  old  books  :  he  is  supposed  to  be 
studying  Universal  History,  and  Theology,  not  only 
Russian,  but  also  the  Catholic  and  Protestant ;  he  is  said  to 
have  read  through  the  German  Bible  eight  times  :  or  else  he 
holds  converse  with  monks,  pilgrims,  friars,  and  people  of 
the  lowest  class. 

One  of  his  servants,  a  certain  Fedor  Yevarlakoff,  an 
intelligent  young  fellow,  a  great  lover  of  literature — he 
borrows  from  me  various  books,  even  Latin  ones — told  me 
one  day  something  concerning  the  Crown  Prince,  which  I 
at  once  set  down  in  my  note  book,  a  gift  from  dear  Leibnitz, 
which  I  always  carry  with  me. 

"  The  Tsarevitch  is  warmly  attached  to  the  priests  and  the 
priests  to  him.  He  reveres  them  like  God,  and  they  call 
him  a  saint ;   they  always  beatify  him  to  the  people." 

I  remember  Leibnitz  telling  me,  that  on  being  introduced 
to  him  in  the  summer  of  1711,  at  the  ducal  castle  of  Wolfen- 
biittel,  he  had  a  long  conversation  with  the  Tsarevitch  on  his 
favourite  subject  :  the  union  of  the  East  with  the  West, 
China  and  Russia  with  Europe,  and  that  later  on  he  had 
sent  him,  through  his  tutor  Baron  Huissen,  an  abstract  of 
the  letters  about  Chinese  affairs,  Liebnitz  asserted  that, 
contrary  to  all  rumours  spread  about  the  Tsarevitch,  he  is 
very  clever,  only  his  intelligence  is  of  a  chfferent  kind  to  his 


112  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

father's.     "He  probably  takes  after  his  grandfather,"  re- 
marked Leibnitz. 

Her  Highness  had  shown  me  a  copy  of  the  letter  received 
by  the  Duke  Ludwig  Rudolf  of  Wolfenbuttel,her  father,  from 
the  Berlin  Royal  Academy  of  Science.  This  letter  mentions 
the  possibility  of  spreading  real  Christian  enlightenment 
throughout  Russia  in  the  near  future,  thanks  to  the  special 
and  marked  incHnation  of  the  Crown  Prince  to  all  science 
and  books. 

I  have  also  seen  the  report  of  meetings  held  by  the  same 
Academy,  in  171 1,  when  one  of  its  members,  the  Co-Rector 
Frish,  had  declared  :  "  The  Tsar's  heir  loves  the  sciences 
even  mo:e  than  the  Tsar  himself,  and  in  his  time  he  will 
patronise   them  no  less." 

It  seems  strange  !  But  I  was  looking  at  them  both  to- 
day in  the  mirror,  as  it  were  the  mysterious  mirror  of  fate, 
I  seemed  to  distinguish  in  both  faces,  so  unlike  in  appear- 
ance, one  common  trait— the  shadow  of  some  impending 
grief,  as  if  they  were  victims,  and  great  suffering  were  in 
store  for  them  both.  Or  was  this  only  fancy  roused  by  that 
dark  mirror  ? 

May  8. 

To-day  we  were  present  at  the  launching  of  a  large 
seventy-gun  man-of-war.  The  Tsar,  dressed  as  a  common 
shipwright,  in  a  red  knitted  jerkin  daubed  with  tar,  axe  in 
hand,  was  clambering  about  the  hull  props,  seeing  that  all 
was  in  order,  and  paying  no  heed  to  danger:— only  lately  two 
men  were  killed  at  a  launching.  I  remembered  the  Tsar's 
words  :  "I  toil  like  Noah  at  the  Ark  of  Russia  !  "  Taking 
his  hat  off  before  the  chief  Admiral,  like  a  subordinate  to  his 
chief,  he  asked  whether  it  was  time  to  begin,  and  having 
received  the  order,  he  was  the  first  to  strike  with  his  axe. 
A  hundred  more  axes  began  to  cut  the  props,  at  the  same 
time  the  beams  were  drawn  back  which  had  suppotted 
the  vessel  on  both  sides  in  the  stays.  She  ghded  along  the 
greased  cradle  foot,  first  slowly,  then  like  a  dart,  smashing 
the  cradle  foot  into  shivers,  and  floated  out  on  the  water, 
rolling  and  cutting  the  waves  for  the  first  time  to  the  sound 
of  music,  cannon  salutes,  and  shouting  of  the  people. 

A  small  boat  took  us  to  the  new  vessel.  The  Tsar  was  on 
board  already  ;  he  had  changed  into  the  uniform  of  a  naval 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   113 

officer,  and  decorated  with  a  star  and  the  pale  blue  ribbon 
of  St.  Andrew,  he  received  the  guests.  All  standing  on  the 
deck,  "  the  newly  born  "  ship  was  baptized  with  a  first  cup 
of  wine.  The  Tsar  made  a  speech.  Here  are  some  stray 
words  I  have  remembered  : — 

"  Our  people  resemble  children,  who  never  will  learn 
their  ABC  unless  they  are  made  to ;  they  grumble''at  the 
time,  but  once  having  mastered  it,  they  are  grateful.  The 
occurrences  of  to-day  prove  this.  Has  not  everything 
been  done  under  compulsion  ?  And  yet  words  of  gratitude 
are  already  heard  for  those  undertakings  which  have  borne 
fruit.  If  you  disdain  the  bitter,  neither  shall  you  enjoy  the 
sweet !  " 

Standing  behind  me,  I  overheard  one  of  the  fools,  an  old 
boyar,  who  was  probably  drunk,  whisper  to  his  neighbour, 
"  We  would  rather  not  have  your  blessings  when  they  have 
to  be  purchased  by  so  many  aches  ani  pains." 

"  We  have,"  continued  the  Tsar,  "  the  precedents  of  the 
civilised  nations  in  Europe,  who  also  began  in  a  small  way.  It 
is  time  for  us  also  to  make  a  start,  fiist  in  Httle  things,  and 
later  will  come  men  who  will  not  recoil  before  the  greater 
tasks.  I  know  I  shall  neither  do  it,  nor  see  it  done,  for  the 
number  of  our  days  is  but  short,  yet  will  I  make  a  beginning, 
then  those  who  come  after  me  will  find  it  easier.  As  for  us, 
we  must  content  ourselves  with  the  glory  of  having  begun  !  " 

I  admired  the  Tsar,  he  looked  so  noble.  We  went  down 
into  the  cabins,  the  ladies  sat  part  from  the  men  in  an 
adjacent  saloon,  where,  during  the  banquet,  no  man  except 
the  Tsar  was  allowed  to  enter.  There  was  a  small  round 
window,  hung  with  red  damask,  in  the  partition  between 
the  two  saloons.  I  sat  next  to  it ;  raising  the  curtain  a 
httle  I  could  see  and  partly  hear  what  went  on  in  the  men's 
apartment.  Some  of  the  things  I  have  put  down  in  my 
note  book. 

Long  narrow  tables,  arranged  in  the  shape  of  a  horse 
shoe,  were  laden  with  cold  dishes  ;  pickles  and  fumados, 
anything  that  would  create  intense  thirst.  The  food  is 
coarse,  the  wines  are  good.  For  the  furnishing  of  these 
banquets  the  Tsar  allows  the  Admiralty  from  his  private 
purse  one  thousand  roubles,  a  vast  sum  for  this  country. 
The  guests  sat  down  anyhow,  without  any  distinction  of 

H 


114  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

rank,  common  seamen  next  to  the  highest  dignitaries.  At 
one  of  the  tables  presided  the  Kniaz-Pope,  the  mock  Prince- 
pope,  surrounded  by  his  cardinals.  He  solemnly  pronounced 
"  Grace  and  peace  be  unto  you,  noble  assembly  !  In  the 
name  of  Bacchus,  and  Ivaska  Khmelnitsky,  and  the  Spirit 
of  wine.     The  drunkenness  of  Bacchus  be  with  you  !  " 

"  Amen,"  responded  the  Tsar,  who  fills  the  position  of 
Archdeacon  to  the  Pope. 

All  guests  approached  in  their  turn  his  Holiness,  bowed 
low  before  him,  kissed  his  hand,  and  accepting  a  ladle  of 
pepper-brandy  drank  it ;  this  is  pure  spirit  of  wine — spiritus 
vini— poured  over  red  Indian  pepper.  I  should  have  thought 
that  the  mere  threat  of  this  brandy  would  be  sufficient  to 
extract  confessions  from  the  most  hardened  malefactor, — 
here  they  compel  even  ladies  to  drink  it. 

The  health  of  all  the  members  of  the  royal  household  was 
proposed ;  only  the  Tsarevitch  and  his  wife  were  omitted, 
although  they  were  present.  Every  toast  was  accompanied 
by  the  firing  of  cannon,  and  the  shock  of  the  firing  was  so 
great  that  the  glass  in  one  of  the  windows  cracked. 

The  guests  grew  speedily  intoxicated,  especially  as  brandy 
was  being  secretly  added  to  the  wine.  The  air  became 
close  in  the  low  cabins,  crowded  with  people.  The  guests 
threw  off  their  waistcoats,  and  pulled  ofl  one  another's  wigs. 
Some  huddled  together  and  kissed  one  another,  others 
quarrelled,  especially  the  ministers  and  senators,  who 
accused  one  another  of  bribe-taking,  cheating  and  swindhng. 

"  Your  mistress  costs  you  twice  your  salarj- !  "  screamed 
one. 

"Have  you  forgotten  the  pickled  cibarins?«"  retorted  the 
other. 

Cibarins  were  pieces  of  gold,  which  a  cunning  petitioner 
had  offered  in  a  small  barrel  under  the  guise  of  mushrooms. 

"  And  how  much  hemp  supplied  to  the  Admiralty  did 
you  take  off  at  a  gulp,  eh  ?  " 

"  Ah,  friends,  what  is  the  use  of  blaming  one  another  ? 
everybody  longs  for  what  is  good ;  whether  honourable  or 
swindlers,  all  men  are  sinners." 

"  Bribes  are  mere  accidents  !  " 

"To  accept  nothing  from  the  petitioners  isagainst  nature." 

"  Yet  by  law " 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   115 

"  What  is  law  but  a  carriage  pole  ?  you  can  swing  it 
whichever  way  you  like " 

The  Tsar  listened  attentively.  It  is  his  custom,  when 
all  are  drunk,  to  double  the  guards  and  let  no  one  pass  out 
of  the  door.  At  the  same  time,  the  Tsar,  who  is  never 
drunk,  much  as  he  may  take,  tries  purposely  to  provoke 
quarrels  among  them.  He  then  learns  what  he  could  never 
have  known  otherwise.  There  is  a  proverb  to  this  effect — 
"  When  rogues  fall  out  honest  men  come  by  their  own." 
The  banquet  develops  into  a  public  inquiry  into  character. 

The  Most  Serene  Prince  Menshikoff  quarrelled  with  the 
Vice-Chancellor  Shafiroff ;  the  Prince  had  called  the  latter 
a  Jew. 

"  I  am  a  Jew,  but  you  are  a  pieman,"  retorted  Shafiroff, 
"  Your  father  had  not  even  a  spoon  to  eat  his  soup  with. 
You  have  been  dragged  up,  '  taken  from  the  mire  you 
have  been  made  a  sire  '  " — 

"  You  dirty  Jew,  I'll  crack  you  on  my  nail  like  a  flea, 
and  nothing  but  a  little  moisture  will  remain." 

They  went  on  railing  at  one  another  for  a  long  time. 
Russians  are  as  a  rule  very  versatile  in  ribaldry  ;  I  think 
it  is  impossible  to  hear  more  obscene  language  anywhere 
else  ;  the  air  is  full  of  it.  In  one  of  the  vilest  expressions 
used  by  young  and  old,  the  term  mother  is  coupled  with  the 
most  obscene  of  terms  :  it  is  known  as  the  '  mother- word.' 

Having  exhausted  their  resources  of  abuse,  the  dignitaries 
began  to  spit  into  one  another's  faces,  while  the  guests  stood 
round  looking  on  and  laughing.  Here  such  scuffles  are 
quite  common,  and  involve  no  further  consequences. 

Prince  James  Dolgoruki  had  a  tussle  with  the  Prince 
Caesar  Romadanofiski.  These  two  venerable  old  men, 
both  white  with  age,  abused  one  another  in  most  insulting 
terms,  then  tore  one  another's  hair,  and  began  strangling 
and  beating  one  another  with  their  fists.  When  some  of 
the  onlookers  tried  to  separate  them,  they  drew  out  their 
swords. 

"  Ei  !  dat  ist  nitt  permittet,"  exclaimed  the  Tsar  in 
Dutch,  coming  up  and  standing  between  them. 

The  Archdeacon  Peter  Mihailoff  is  commanded  by  the 
Pope  "  to  pacify  the  guests  by  word  and  act  during  the 
uproar." 


ii6  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  I  want  satisfaction  !  "  moaned  Prince  James,  "  I  have 
been  sorely  affronted."  "  Comrade,"  remonstrated  the 
Tsar,  "  Where  can  you  seek  judgment  against  Caesar 
but  from  God  ?  I  myself  am  but  a  subject,  and  belong  to 
his  Majesty's  service.  What  is  the  affront  after  all  ?  None 
of  the  assembly  has  remained  untouched  by  Bacchus. 
Sauffen-rauffen,  we  drink,  light,  sleep,  and  make  friends." 

For  punish Tient  each  of  them  was  made  to  drink  another 
bumper  of  pepper-brandy.  Soon  they  both  were  rolling 
under  the  table. 

Buffoons  were  shouting,  grinning,  spitting,  not  only  at 
one  another  but  also  at  decent  people.  A  special  chorus, 
called  the  Spring  chorus,  imitated  the  singing  of  all  birds 
from  the  nightingale  to  the  warbler,  in  such  piercing,  shrill 
notes  that  the  walls  resounded  with  a  deafening  noise.  A 
wild  dance-song  was  heard  ;  its  words  almost  meaningless 
recalled  the  screams  of  a  witches'  sabbath — 

Shinshau  ! 
Shevergen  ! 
Beat  the  pace,    beat ! 
Don't  spare  your  feet ! 

In  our  ladies'  apartment  the  old  drunken  fool,  the  Princess 
Abbess  Rjevskaya,  a  veritable  witch,  whirled  away  in  a 
dance,  lifting  her  skirts  above  her  head  and  singing  in  a  voice 
hoarse  with  drink  : — 

Tune  up !  tune  up !  my  music  sweet 

Work  on,  work  on  my  staff. 

My  father-in-law  from  the  stove 

Has  fallen  into  a  trough  ! 

Had   I  but  known  this  would  occur 

I  would  have  placed  him   at   the  top. 

And  falling,  he'd  have  broken  his  head.  .  .  . 

The  Tsaritsa,  with  her  hair  in  disorder,  covered  with  sweat, 
red  and  flown  with  wine,  was  watching  her,  and  beat  the 
time  with  her  hands  and  foot,  and  laughed  like  mad.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  orgie  she  tried  to  persuade  her  Highness  to 
drink,  using  some  curious  sayings,  which  api:)ear  to  be 
numerous  on  the  subject  in  Russian.  "  Bumper  on  bumper 
is  better  than  stroke  upon  stroke!     "  Even  cabbages  flag 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    117 

without  water!"  "Even  a  hen  must  drink!"  Yet, 
noticing  that  the  Crown  Princess  was  almost  fainting,  she 
left  off,  and  even  secretly  added  water  to  her  v/ine  and  ours 
at  the  same  time.  To  water  wine  is  counted  a  great  crime 
at  such  banquets. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  night — we  had  remained  at 
table  from  six  in  the  evening  till  four  in  the  morning — the 
Tsaritasa  several  times  went  to  the  door  and  beckoned  to 
the  Tsar,  saying : 

"  Isn't  it  time  to  go  home  ?  " 

"Never  mind,  Katinka,  to-morrow  is  a  holiday," answered 
the  Tsar. 

Each  time  I  lifted  the  curtain  I  saw  something  new  in 
the  men's  apartment. 

Somebody  walking  across  the  table  had  stepped  with  his 
boot  into  a  dish  of  fish  brawn.  Ths  Tsar  had  only  a  mo- 
ment before  forced  some  of  this  fieh  down  th^  Chancellor 
Golovkin's  throat.  Golovkin  could  not  bear  fish  ;  ser- 
vants held  his  arms  and  legs  ;  he  struggled,  choked,  and 
grew  very  red.  Having  done  with  Golovkin,  the  Tsar 
turned  to  Ihe  Hanoverian  Resident,  Weber  ;  he  fondled 
and  kissed  him.  with  one  hand  he  supported  his  head,  with 
the  other  he  held  a  bumper  to  his  lips,  begging  him  to 
'rink  it.  Then  taking  off  his  wig,  he  kissed  now  the  front, 
v.ow  the  back  of  his  head.  He  lifted  his  lips  and  kissed 
his  teeth.  They  say  the  reason  of  this  tenderness  was  the 
Tsar's  desire  to  get  out  of  the  Resident  a  diplomatic  secret, 
Moussin  Pushkin,  who  was  being  tickled  below  the  neck, 
squealed  like  a  young  pig  brought  to  the  knife.  He  is 
very  ticklish.     The  Tsar  is  trying  to  accustom  him  to  it. 

The  great  Admiral  Apraksin  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 
The  privy  councillor  Tolstoi  crept  about  on  all  fours  ;  it 
turned  out  afterwards  that  he  was  not  so  drunk  as  he  pre- 
tended ;  he  did  it  to  escape  more  drink.  A  bottle  had 
cut  open  the  Vice  Admiral  Cruis'  head.  Prince  Menchikoff 
had  fallen  to  the  ground ;  he  seemed  comatose  ;  his  face 
had  grown  livid.  People  busied  themselves  round  him 
and  tried  by  rubbing  to  revive  him,  lest  he  should  die — 
death  is  not  an  unusual  ending  to  such  orgies.  The  Tsar's 
chaplain,  the  Archimandrite  Theodosius,  was  sick  ;  "  I  shall 
die,  holy  Mother !  "  he  piteously  moaned.     The  Kniaz-Pope 


Ii8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

was  snoring  ;    his  head  lay  on  the  table  in  a  pool  ol  wine 

Hissing,  roaring,  the  noise  of  breaking  china,  bad  language, 
boxes  on  the  ear,  which  no  longer  called  forth  any  attention, 
seemed  to  fill  th2  air.  A  stench  prevailed  as  in  the  vilest 
tavern.  Had  anyone  come  down  from  the  outside  he  could 
not  have  helped  vomiting. 

My  head  swam.  I  seemed  at  times  to  lose  consciousness. 
The  human  faces  all  looked  beastlike  ;  the  Tsar's  the  most 
terrible  of  all.  Large  and  round,  with  staring  eyes,  slightly 
oblong  and  prominent,  with  pointed  moustaches  standing 
out,  it  was  the  face  of  a  tiger  or  a  huge  wild  cat.  Calm 
and  disdainful,  his  look  was  clear  and  piercing.  He  alone 
had  remained  sober  ;  and  was  now  with  curiosity  peering 
into  the  vilest  mysteries,  into  the  bared  soul  of  human 
beings,  which  lay  turned  inside  out  before  him  in  this 
inquisition  chamber,  where  the  instrument  of  torture  was 
wine. 

The  Kniaz-Pope  was  roused  and  lifted  from  the  table. 
The  Kniaz-Caesar  had  also  had  time  to  sleep  off  his  worst. 
They  were  made  to  dance  together  ;  incapable  of  standing 
on  their  feet  they  had  to  be  propped  up  on  both  sides. 
The  pope  wore  a  mock  tiara  crowned  by  a  nude  Bacchus, 
in  his  hands  he  held  a  cross  made  of  pipes.  The  Caesar, 
wearing  a  mock  crown,  held  a  sceptre  in  his  hand.  The 
Tsarevitch  lay  on  the  ground  dead  drunk,  between  these 
two  fools,  these  phantoms  of  ancient  dignity — the  Russian 
Tsar  and  the  Russian  Patriarch.  What  happened  next  I 
don't  remember,  and  will  not  even  try  to  recall,  it  was  too 
disgusting. 

On  the  neighbouring  ships  reveille  was  sounded.  On 
ours  too  the  roll  of  the  drum  was  heard.  The  Tsar  himself, 
who  is  an  excellent  drummer,  was  sounding  retreat.  This 
signified  that  a  great  battle  had  been  waged  with  Bacchus, 
and  he  had  remained  victor.  Grenadiers  were  bearing 
away   drunken   nobles,    like   bodies   from   a   battle   field. 

When  we  saw  the  sky  at  last,  it  seemed  to  us  we  had 
escaped — to  be  grandiose — from  hell ;  speaking  vulgarly — 
from  a  cesspool. 

May  9 

To-day  the  Tsar  left  Petersburg  with  a  large  fleet,  he 
has  gone  to  meet  the  Swedes. 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    119 

May  20. 

It  is  a  long  time  since  I  wrote  in  this  diary.  Her  High- 
ness has  been  ill  after  the  entertainment.  I  have  not  left 
her.  And  besides  there  is  nothing  worth  writing  about. 
Everything  is  so  sad,  that  one  feels  inclined  neither  to  talk 
nor  think  ;   let  come  what  will ! 

May  25. 

I  was  not  far  wrong,  the  truce  did  not  last  long.  Again 
a  black  cloud  has  come  between  the  Tsarevitch  and  her 
Highness.  Again  they  do  not  meet  for  whole  weeks.  He 
too  is  ill.  The  doctors  say  it  is  consumption  ;  I  think  it 
is  brandy. 

June  4. 

The  Tsarevitch  came  in  dressed  for  a  journey  in  a  Ger- 
man travelling  coat ;  he  talked  about  things  in  general, 
and  all  at  once  said  : 

"  Adieu,  ich  gehe  nach  Karlsbad." 

The  Crown  Princess  was  so  taken  aback  that  she  could 
say  nothing.  She  did  not  even  ask  for  how  long.  I 
thought  he  was  joking,  but  afterwards  it  appeared  that 
almost  immediately  on  leaving  us,  he  had  taken  his  seat 
in  the  coach  and  was  gone.  It  is  said  he  has  really  gone  to 
Karlsbad  for  a  cure. 

And  now  we  are  left  alone  without  Tsar  or  Tsarevitch. 
Her  Highness  does  not  receive  any  letters  from  her  parents  ; 
they  probably  believe  the  slanders  circulated  about  her 
and  are  displeased  with  her.     We  are  forsaken  by  all. 

July  7. 

A  letter  from  the  Tsar  to  her  Highness.  "  I  do  not  wish 
to  trouble  you,  nor  act  against  my  conscience,  but  the 
absence  of  your  husband,  my  son,  compels  me  to  do  so,  in 
order  to  prevent  the  idle  talk  of  loose  tongues,  which  are 
wont  to  convert  truth  into  lies.  The  fact  of  your  pregnancy 
has  been  spread  abroad  ;  and  therefore  a  certain  arrange- 
ment must  be  made  for  the  time  when  by  God's  will  you 
will  be  delivered.  The  Chancellor  Golovkin  will  acquaint 
you  with  the  details  of  what  you  will  be  expected  to  con- 
form to,  and  then  the  mouths  of  all  slanderers  will  be 
closed." 

The  arrangement  was  made.  Her  Highness  was  sur- 
rounded by  three  women  :    the  Vice  Chancellor's  wife, 


120  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

General  Bruce's  wife,  and  the  old  fool  Rjevskaya,  the  same 
who  danced  at  the  banquet.  Her  Highness  was  only 
slightly  acquainted  with  th^m.  These  three  shrews 
are  continuously  about  her,  ostensibly  to  take  care  of  her, 
really  to  act  as  simple  spies. 

And  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  what  are  they  frightened 
at  ?  what  deception  is  possible  ?  surely  not  an  exchange  ; 
a  boy  for  a  girl,  by  those  who  would  like  to  see  the  inheri- 
tance assured  to  the  offspring  of  the  Tsarevitch.  Or  is  it 
only  an  excess  of  amenity  on  the  Tsaritsa's  part  ? 

Only  now  we  realize  how  much  we  are  hated  and  sus- 
pected. Charlotte's  whole  crime  consists  in  being  her 
husband's  wife.  The  father  is  against  his  son,  and  we  stand 
between  them  as  between  two  fires. 

"  I  will  obediently  submit  to  your  Majesty's  wish  with 
regard  to  the  appointment  of  these  three  women  for  my 
protection,"  Charlotte  replied,  to  the  Tsar,  "  all  the  more 
as  the  thought  of  deceiving  you  or  the  Crown  Prince  had 
never  entered  my  head.  I  am  hurt  by  this  strange  and 
unmerited  treatment.  I  thought  the  love  and  clemency  so 
often  promised  me  by  your  Majesty  were  sufficient  safe- 
guard against  slander,  and  a  warrant  that  the  gTiilty  ones 
should  meet  with  due  punishment.  It  is  grievous  that  my 
enemies  should  be  strong  enough  to  incite  such  intrigues. 
God  is  my  only  refuge  in  this  foreign  land,  and  when  aban- 
doned by  everybody  else.  He  will  hearken  unto  the  sighs  of 
my  heart  and  put  an  end  to  my  sufferings.  " 

July  12. 
This  morning   at  7   o'clock  her   Highness  was  success- 
fully delivered  of  a  daughter.     No  news  whatever  from  the 
Tsarevitch. 

August  I. 
The  news  of  a  Russian  victory  over  the  Swedes  on  July 
27,  has  arrived  ;  it  is  said  an  entire  squadron  under  the 
command  of  Ehrenshild  has  been  captured.  The  whole 
day  long  the  bells  are  ringing  and  cannon  firing.  It  is  true 
they  are  not  economical  of  their  powder  here  ;  the  most 
insignificant  victory,  the  taking  of  three  or  four  rotten 
galleys  is  sufficient  excuse  for  firing  off  cannon,  and  at  such 
a  rate  as  though  the  world  had  been  conquered. 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    121 

Septeirher  9. 
The  Tsar  has  returned  to  Petersburg.  Again  a  cannon- 
ade as  though  it  were  a  besieged  city.  We  are  almost  deaf. 
Endless  triumphal  processions,  fireworks  with  boastful 
allegories  :  the  Tsar  is  glorified  as  if  he  were  a  conqueror 
of  worlds,  a  Caesar  or  an  Alexander.  Again  an  orgie  ;  we 
thanked  the  Lord  we  were  spared  this  time.  Again,  it  is 
said,  they  drank  like  swine.  Rain  and  mud.  A  low,  dark 
and,  as  it  were,  impenetrable  sky  looks  in  through  the  win- 
dows. Wet  crows  perch  cawing  on  the  bare  branches. 
Dreariness  !     Dreariness  ! 

September  ig. 

I  found  the  Crown  Princess  weeping  over  old  letters  the 
Tsarevitch  had  written  her  during  their  engagement. 
Crooked,  broken  characters  on  pencil  lines,  empty  com- 
pliments, diplomatic  amiabilities.  And  she,  poor  thing, 
shed  tears  in  looking  over  them  ! 

We  learnt  by  chance  that  the  Tsarevitch  lives  incognito 
in  Karlsbad  and  will  not  return  here  before  the  winter. 

September  20. 
In  order  to  forget  myself,  and  not  to  think  about  our 
affairs,  I  have  decided  to  write  down  everything  I  see  or 
hear  about  the  Tsar.  Leibnitz  is  right — "  quanto  magis 
hujus  Principis  indolem  prospicio  tanto  earn  magis  admiror" 
— The  longer  I  watch  this  sovereign's  character  the  more  I 
marvel  at  it. 

October  i. 

I  have  seen  the  Tsar  forge  iron  in  the  dock-yard  smithy. 
The  courtiers  ministered  to  him,  made  the  fire  up,  blew  the 
bellows,  carried  the  coal,  soiling  the  silk  and  velvet  of  their 
gold-embroidered  coats  thereby. 

"  That's  right  ;  that  is  as  a  Tsar  ought  to  be  !  He  does 
not  eat  his  bread  unearned.  He  works  better  than  a 
*  bourlak, '  "  said  one  of  the  bystanders,  a  common  working 
man. 

The  Tsar  was  wearing  a  leather  apron  ;  his  hair  was  tied 
up  with  a  string  ;  his  sleeves  were  turned  up  and  showed 
his  bare  sinewy  arms  :  his  face  was  smeared  with  soot.  The 
tall  smith,  lit  up  by  the  red  blaze  of  the  furnace,  resembled 
a  Titan.     His  hammer  hit  the  white,  hot  iron  so  hard  that 


122  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

the  sparks  showered  around,  the  anvil  trembled  and  rang 
as  if  on  the  point  of  being  smashed  into  shivers. 
I  remembered  the  words  spoken  by  an  old  boyar  : 
"  Sovereign,  thou  would'st  forge  a  new  Russia  out  of 
Vulcan's  iron.     Hard  work  for  the  hammer  !  hard,  too,  for 
the  anvil !  " 

"  Time,  too,  is  like  hot  iron  ;  forge  it  at  white  heat !  " 
So  runs  one  of  the  Tsar's  sayings.  And  he  indeed  forges 
Russia  at  white  heat.  He  never  rests ;  he  is  always 
hurrying  somewhither.  It  seems  as  though  he  could  not 
stop  to  rest  even  if  he  would.  He  is  killing  himself  with 
feverish  activity,  an  incredible  tension  of  strenuousness, 
a  ceaseless  convulsiveness.  The  doctors  say  that  his  strength 
is  undermined ;  that  he  won't  live  long.  He  is  always 
taking  the  Olonetz  iron  waters,  yet  at  the  same  time  he 
drinks  brandy  ;  thus  the  remedy  does  more  harm  than  good. 
The  first  impression  he  leaves  on  the  observer  is  rapidity. 
He  is  all  motion  ;  does  not  walk,  but  runs.  The  Imperial 
Ambassador,  Count  Kinski — a  pretty  solid  man — assures 
us  that  he  would  rather  take  part  in  battles,  than  have  a 
two  hours'  audience  with  the  Tsar,  because  is  is  forced,  in 
spite  of  his  stoutness,  to  run  after  him  all  the  time,  so  that 
he  is  bathed  in  sweat  even  in  the  severest  Russian  frost. 
"  Time  is  like  life,"  repeats  the  Tsar.  "  Loss  of  time  is 
death." 

t^  :k  ilfi  ilfi  ilfi 

Fire  and  water  are  his  elements,  he  loves  them  like  one 
born  in  them. — water  like  a  lish,  fire  like  a  salamander. 
He  has  a  passion  for  cannonades,  and  for  various  experi- 
ments with  fire  and  fireworks.  He  always  lights  the  fire- 
works himself,  rushing  into  the  flames  ;  I  was  present  once 
when  he  singed  his  hair.  He  says  he  is  inuring  his  people 
to  the  smell  of  powder  ;  but  this  is  only  an  excuse,  fire  itself 
he  simply  loves. 

His  passion  is  as  great  for  water.  Although  the  off- 
spring of  Muscovy's  Tsars  who  never  saw  the  sea,  he  yet 
began  longing  for  it,  when,  but  a  child,  he  was  secluded  in 
the  close  terems  of  the  Kremlin  Palace,  like  a  wild  gosling 
in  a  hen-house. 

He  used  to  float  in  toy  boats  on  artificial  lakes.  When 
he  last  he  got  to  the  sea  he  could  not  tear  himself  away  from 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    123 

it  again.  He  spends  most  of  his  time  on  water,  he  sleeps 
every  day  after  dinner  on  his  frigate  ;  when  ill  he  lives 
on  board  altogether,  and  sea-air  generally  cures  him.  Dur- 
ing the  summer  he  feels  the  lack  of  air,  even  among  the 
large  gardens  of  Peterhof,  so  he  fitted  himself  up  a  bed- 
room in  Monplaisir,  a  small  house,  washed  by  the  Finnish 
Gulf ;  the  windows  of  the  bedroom  look  straight  upon  the 
sea.  In  Petersburg  the  Observatory  is  built  on  a  sandbank 
in  the  mouth  of  the  Neva.  In  the  Summer  Garden,  also, 
the  Palace  is  surrounded  on  two  sides  by  water.  Steps 
lead  from  the  door  straight  down  into  the  water,  just  as  in 
Amsterdam  and  Venice.  Once,  during  winter,  when  the 
Neva  had  already  put  on  her  ice-chains,  and  only  before 
the  Palace  there  remained  a  round,  open  ice-free  space, 
about  a  hundred  yards  in  circumference,  he  sailed  on  it  up 
and  down  in  a  tiny  boat,  like  a  duck  in  a  pool.  When  the 
whole  river  was  covered  with  hard  ice  he  ordered  a  space, 
about  a  hundred  yards  long  and  thirty  yards  wide,  to  be 
daily  cleared  and  swept  of  the  snow  :  I  myself  have  seen  him 
sliding  along  this  surface  in  small  pretty  boyers,  fitted  with 
steel  skates  and  bulge-ways.  "  We  sail  on  the  ice,"  said 
he,  "so  as  not  to  forget  our  nautical  exercises  during  the 
winter."  Another  time,  at  Moscow,  in  the  Christmas  holi- 
days, he  went  along  the  streets  in  a  huge  sleigh — rigged  in 
imitation  of  a  real  sailing  vessel.  He  loves  letting  young 
geese  and  ducks,  which  the  Tsaritsa  gives  him,  go  into  the 
water.  He  delights  in  their  glee  ,  as  though  he  himself 
were  a  water  bird. 

:(:  :^  :f:  :{:  :{: 

He  says  his  first  thoughts  about  the  sea  date  from  his  read- 
ing the  narrative  of  the  maritime  expedition  of  Prince  Oleg 
of  Kieff  to  Constantinople,  recorded  by  the  Chronicler 
Nestor.  If  this  be  true  he  is  only  resuscitating  the  old  in 
the  new,  the  native  in  the  foreign.  From  the  sea,  across 
the  land  to  the  sea — this  is  Russia's  course  ! 


Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  the  contradictions  of  his 
two  beloved  elements,  water  and  fire,  have  merged  in  him 
into  one  being,  strange  and  curious.  I  know  not  whether 
kind  or  cruel,  divine  or  diabolic — but  certainly  inhuman. 


124  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

A  strange  timidity  occasionally  besets  him.  I  myself 
have  seen  him  at  a  pompous  reception  of  Ambassadors 
sitting  on  the  throne,  confused,  blushing,  perspiring,  trying 
to  gain  courage  by  repeatedly  taking  snuff  ;  he  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  his  eyes,  and  even  avoided  his  wife's 
glances.  When  the  ceremony  was  over  and  he  was  no 
longer  obliged  to  stay  on  the  throne,  he  was  as  merry  as 
a  school-boy.  The  Markgravine  of  Brandenburg  told  me 
that  at  her  first  inter\'iew  with  the  Tsar — who  it  is  true 
was  quite  young  at  that  time — he  turned  away,  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands  like  a  shy  debutante,  and  did 
nothing  but  repeat,  "  Je  ne  sais  pas  m'exprimer " — 
"  I  cannot  talk."  He  soon  recovered,  however,  and  became 
almost  too  free.  He  expressed  the  desire  to  convince  him- 
self that  the  German  ladies'  hard  waists,  which  so  surprised 
the  Russians,  were  not  caused  by  their  bony  nature,  but  by 
the  whalebones  in  the  stays.  "  II  pourrait  etre  plus  poli  " 
— "  He  might  have  been  a  little  more  polite,"  observed  the 
Markgravine.  Baron  Manteuffel  related  to  me  the  Tsar's 
interview  with  th^  Queen  of  Prussia  :  "  He  was  so  amiable 
that  before  offering  her  his  hand  he  put  on  a  rather  dirty 
glove.  At  ths  supper  he  surpassed  himself.  He  neither 
picked  his  teeth,  nor  belched,  nor  uttered  any  other 
unbecoming  noises  (il  n'a  ni  rote  ni  pete)." 

When  travelling  about  Europe  he  insisted  that  nobody 
should  look  at  him,  and  that  the  roads  and  streets  he  had 
to  pass  should  be  quite  empty.  He  entered  houses  and 
went  out  of  them  by  secret  ways  ;  visiting  museums  by 
night.  One  day,  in  Holland,  when  he  was  obliged  to  pass 
through  a  hall  where  the  members  of  the  States-General 
were  sitting,  he  asked  the  president  to  make  the  whole 
assembly  turn  their  backs  to  him  as  he  passed  ;  and  when 
respect  for  the  Tsar  would  not  allow  them  to  do  so,  he 
pulled  his  wig  down  to  his  nose,  hurried  through  the  room 
and  antechamber,  and  ran  down  the  stair. 

One  day,  rowing  on  the  canal  at  Amsterdam,  and  notic- 
ing a  boat  with  inquisitive  spectators  attempting  to  ap- 
proach him,  he  fell  into  such  a  fury  that  he  flung  two  empty 
bottles  at  the  steersman's  head,  and  nearly  brained  him.  A 
real  savage  !  A  Russian  demon  in  a  civilized  Europe  ! 
A  savage  and  a  child  !     All  Russians  in  general  are  children. 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   125 

The  Tsar  only  pretends  to  be  grown  up  when  among  them. 
I  shall  never  forget  how,  at  the  village  fair  near  Wolfen- 
biittel,  the  hero  of  Poltava  rode  on  the  wooden  horses  of 
a  second-rate  roundabout,  tried  to  catch  brass  hoops  on  a 
stick,  and  enjoyed  himself  like  a  small  schoolboy.  Children 
are  cruel.  The  Tsar's  favourite  diversion  is  to  force  people 
into  doing  something  for  which  they  have  an  instinctive 
aversion.  Those  who  cannot  stand  wine,  butter,  cheese, 
oysters,  or  vinegar,  are  on  every  possible  occasion  stuffed 
with  them  by  the  Tsar.  Those  who  are  ticklish  are  tickled 
by  him.  Many,  to  please  him,  pretend  that  they  are 
unable  to  endure  what  he  specially  delights  in  administering. 
Sometimes  these  jokes  are  fearful,  especially  during  the  festi- 
vities in  the  Christmas  holidays,  the  so-called  Slavleniya. 
This  amusement,  an  old  boyar  told  me,  is  so  terrible,  that 
many  prepare  for  it  as  for  death.  People  are  dragged  by 
ropes  from  one  ice  hole  to  another  ;  others  are  compelled 
to  sit  on  the  ice  bare-buttocked  ;  others  again  are  killed 
by  excessive  drink.  This  is  the  way  a  creature  alien  to  man, 
a  faun  or  a  centaur  would  play  with  men,  maiming  them  and 
killing  them  unawares. 

In  the  anatomical  theatre  at  Leyden  he  was  one  day 
watching  how  the  exposed  muscles  of  a  body  w^ere  being 
saturated  with  turpentine.  Noticing  a  look  of  extreme 
repulsion. on  the  lace  of  one  of  his  Russian  companions, 
the  Tsar  took  him  by  the  collar,  bent  him  over  the  table, 
and  insisted  on  his  tearing  the  muscles  off  the  body  with 
his  teeth.  At  times  it  is  almost  impossible  to  say  where 
childish  frolic  ends  and  the  cruelty  of  a  beast  begins. 
***** 

Coupled  with  strange  awkwardness  and  timidity  he 
displays  savage  shamelessness,  especially  towards  women. 
"  II  faut  que  SaMajeste  ait  dans  le  corps  une  legion  de  de- 
mons de  luxure."  "  His  Majesty  must  incorporate  a  legion  of 
sensual  devils,"  says  the  court  physician  Blumentrost. 
He  presumes  that  the  Tsar's  scurvy  is  the  outcome  of 
an  older  ailment  which  had  troubled  him  in  early  youth. 

To  quote  the  expression  of  one  of  the"  new  Russians" — 
"  The  Tsar  displays  a  political  leniency  with  regard  to 
sexual  immorality" — the  more  sinners,  the  more  recruits, 
and  he  needs  recruits.     He  himself  considers  love  to  be 


126  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

only  a  natural  instinct.  Once  during  his  stay  in  England, 
when  a  courtezan  was  not  satisfied  with  her  present  of  five 
hundred  guineas,  he  said  to  Menshikoff  :  "  You  think  I  am 
as  great  a  spendthrift  as  yourself.  For  five  hundred  guineas 
old  men  serve  me  with  zeal  and  brains,  and  this  jade  has 
served  me  damnably  badly,  you  yourself  know  in  what 
way." 

The  Tsaritsa  is  not  in  the  least  degree  jealous.  He  re- 
lates to  her  all  his  affairs  of  the  heart,  but  always  ends  with 
the  compliment,  "  and  still  you  are  better  than  the  whole 
pack  of  them,   Catherine!" 

Strange  rumours  are  circulated  and  voiced  abroad  with 
regard  to  the  Tsar's  Denshiks.  One  of  them,  General  Yagou- 
shinsky,  is  supposed  to  have  gained  his  master's  favours  in 
ways  which  cannot  be  well  talked  about.  The  handsome  Le- 
fort,  so  says  an  amiable  old  gentleman  about  the  Court,  was 
so  intimate  with  the  Tsar  that  they  had  one  mistress  between 
them.  It  is  rumoured  that  the  Tsaritsa,  before  living  with 
the  Tsar,  had  been  the  the  mistress  of  Menshikoff.  Men- 
shikoff, in  his  turn,  had  taken  in  Catharine's  affections  the 
place  of  Lefort.  This  man  Menshikoff,  "  risen  from  the 
mire,"  who,  in  the  Tsar's  own  words,  was  conceived  in  law- 
lessness, born  to  sin,  and  is  ending  his  life  in  rascality,  has  an 
almost  inexplicable  power  over  Peter.  The  Tsar  will  some- 
times beat  him  like  a  dog,  throw  him  to  the  ground,  trample 
upon  him  ;  one  would  think  it  was  all  over,  and  yet,  the  next 
moment,  they  have  again  made  peace,  and  are  even  kissing 
one  another.  I  have  myself  heard  the  Tsar  calling  him  his 
dear  Alexasha,  his  own  darling,  and  Menshikoff  returned  the 
compliment.  This  ci-devant  street  pieman  has  become  so 
insolent  that  he  said  one  day  to  the  Tsarevitch  (true,  he  was 
drunk  at  the  time),  "  You  will  see  as  Uttle  of  the  Crown  as 
of  vour  own  ears.     The  crown  is  my  property." 

October  8. 
To-day,  a  Dutch  merchant's  wife,  who  died  of  dropsy,  was 
buried.  The  Tsar  himself  peformed  the  operation  of  tap- 
ping her.  They  say  her  death  was  caused  less  by  illness 
than  by  the  operation.  The  Tsar  was  present  at  both 
funeral  and  commemoration  banquet.  He  drank  and  en- 
joyed himself  vastly.     He  considers  himself  a  great  sur- 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   127 

geon.  Persons  about  him  unlucky  enough  to  have  a  swel- 
hng  or  gathering  do  their  best  to  conceal  it,  for  fear  the 
Tsar  should  begin  cutting  it.  He  has  a  strange  liking  for 
anatomy.  He  cannot  see  a  body  without  having  it  dis- 
sected, and  examines  post  mortem  all  the  bodies  of  his  rela- 
tives. 

He  delights  in  drawing  teeth,  having  learnt  the  art  in  Hol- 
land from  a  travelling  dentist.  There  is  a  bagful  of  rotten 
teeth  extracted  by  the  imperial  forceps  preserved  in  the 
Kunst-Kammer  here. 

In  the  face  of  suffering  he  displays  cynical  curiosity  and 
a  cynical  kindheartedness.  He  has  himself  performed  an 
intestinal  operation  on  his  page,  an  Arab. 


His  whole  nature  is  a  combination  of  strength  and  weak- 
ness. This  is  apparent  at  once  even  in  his  face  :  terrible 
eyes  from  which  nothing  escapes,  one  look  of  which  suffices 
to  make  people  swoon  ;  lips,  thin,  delicate,  almost  feminine, 
with  a  cunning  smile  ;  a  chin,  soft,  round,  plump,  with  a 
dimple. 

We  are  positively  sick  of  hearing  about  the  hat  pierced 
with  bullets  at  Poltava  :  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  can  be 
brave,  especially  when  victorious.  All  victors  are  brave. 
But  has  he  always  been  as  brave  as  it  is  believed  ? 

The  Saxon  Engineer  Hallart,  who  took  part  in  the  Narva 
campaign  of  1700,  tells  me,  that  when  the  Tsar  knew  of  the 
approach  of  Charles  XII,  he  made  over  the  command  of  the 
army  to  the  Due  de  Croy,  with  instructions  hurriedly 
written,  bearing  neither  date,  nor  seal,  quite  unintelligible, 
confused,  and  himself  in  great  perturbation  quitted  the 
scene  of  action. 

The  Swedish  prisoner.  Count  Pipper,  has  shown  me  a 
medal  struck  by  the  Swedes  ;  on  one  side  the  Tsar  is  warm- 
ing his  hands  at  the  fire  of  his  cannons  which  are  sending 
shells  into  the  besieged  Narva.  The  inscription  is — "  And 
Peter  stood  at  the  fire  and  warmed  himself,"  an  allusion  to 
the  Apostle  Peter  in  the  court  of  the  high  priest  !  On  the 
other  side  Russians  are  represented  retreating  from  Narva  ; 
Peter  in  front,  his  crown  tumbling  from  his  head,  his  sword 
thrown  away,  wipes  his  tears  with  a  handkerchief ;    and 


128  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

the  inscription  runs — "And  going  out,  he  wept  bitterly." 
All  this  may  be  slander  ;  yet  why  has  no  one  even  dared 
to  invent  slanders  about  Alexander  or  Caesar  ?  Some- 
thing similarly  strange  happened  during  the  Pruth  cam- 
paign. At  the  most  dangerous  moment,  just  before  the 
battle,  the  Tsar  was  about  to  leave  the  army  for  the  rear, 
under  pretext  of  bringing  up  fresh  forces.  That  he  did  not 
leave  was  only  due  to  the  retreat  being  cut  off.  He  wrote 
to  the  Senate — that  never,  since  he  had  been  in  service,  had 
he  been  in  such  despair.  Does  not  this  again  almost  justify 
the  legend  that  "  going  out,  he  wept  bitterly  ?  " 

Blumentrost  says  that  doctors  know  more  about  heroes 
than  ever  will  go  down  to  posterity ; — it  appears  the  Tsar 
cannot  endure  the  slightest  physical  pain.  During  a  seri- 
ous illness  which  was  expected  to  result  in  death,  he  was 
anything  but  heroic.  "It  is  hardly  credible,"  exclaimed 
a  Russian  who  had  been  praising  the  Tsar  in  my  presence, 
"  that  a  great  and  fearless  hero  should  be  afraid  of  so  insigni- 
ficant an  insect  as  a  cockroach."  When  the  Tsar  travels 
about  Russia,  new  huts  are  erected  for  him  to  sleep  in,  as  it 
is  difficult  to  find  in  Russian  villages  a  dwelling  without 
cockroaches.  He  is  also  afraid  of  spiders  and  other  insects. 
I  myself  once  observed  how  at  the  sight  of  a  cockroach  he 
trembled,  his  face  became  pale  and  contorted,  as  at  a  ghost 
or  some  supernatural  monster  ;  another  moment  and  he 
would  have  swooned  or  fallen  into  a  fit,  like  a  tremulous 
woman.  O  to  play  a  trick  upon  him,  like  those  he  plays 
on  others  !  He  would  probably  die  of  fright  if  he  were 
stripped  and  half  a  dozen  spiders  and  cockroaches  were 
let  loose  on  him.  No  doubt  historians  would  never  believe 
that  the  conqueror  of  Charles  XII  died  from  the  touch  of  a 
cockroach's  legs.  This  dread  in  the  presence  of  a  small 
harmless  creature  is  astonishing  in  a  great  Tsar  before  whom 
everybody  trembles.  I  remembered  the  teaching  about 
monads  by  Leibnitz  ;  it  almost  would  seem  that  it  was  not 
their  physical,  but  their  metaphysical  pre-existent  nature, 
which  is  alien  to  the  Tsar's  nature.  His  fear  was  not  only 
ludicrous  but  awful  to  me  :  it  seemed  as  though  I  had  sud- 
denly penetrated  some  mystery. 

One  day  a  learned  German,  while  making  experiments 
before  the  Tsaritsa  with  an  air  pump,  had  placed  a  swallow 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   129 

under  the  glass  dome.  When  the  Tsar  saw  the  Httle  bird 
gasp,  totter,  and  feebly  flap  its  wings,  he  said  : — 

"Enough!  Enough!  don't  take  away  innocent  life,  the 
bird  has  done  no  harm." 

"  I  think  her  young  ones  are  mourning  for  her  in  the 
nest,"  added  the  Tsaritsa,  and  taking  the  swallow  to  the 
window  she  released  and  let  it  fly  away. 

Sentimental  Peter  !  how  strangely  this  sounds  !  And 
yet  I  saw  something  closely  akin  to  sentiment  flit  across 
those  delicate  almost  feminine  lips,  the  plump  and  dimpled 
chin,  when  the  Tsaritsa  said  in  that  simpering  voice  with 
mincing  smile,  "  her  young  ones  are  mourning  for  her  in  the 
nest." 

Was  it  not  on  that  very  day  that  this  terrible  ukase  was 
published  ?  "  His  Imperial  Majesty  has  deigned  to  ob- 
serve that  the  nostrils  of  convicts  sentenced  to  labour  for 
life  are  only  incompletely  torn.  His  Majesty  orders  the 
nostrils  to  be  taken  off  to  the  bone,  so  that  in  case  the  con- 
victs should  desert  they  could  not  hide  themselves,  but 
may  easily  be  recognized  and  brought  back."  And  this 
among  the  Admiralty  Regulations  :  "  The  body  of  him  who 
commits  suicide  must  be  publicly  hanged  by  the  feet." 


"Is  he  cruel  ?  That  is  a  question.  "  He  who  is  cruel 
ceases  to  be  a  hero."  This  is  one  of  those  saj-ings  ascribed 
to  the  Tsar,  which  I  do  not  quite  believe  ;  they  seem  to  be 
uttered  rather  for  posterity.  Yet  posterity  will  know  that 
he,  while  sparing  a  swallow,  tortured  a  sister  to  death,  tor- 
ments his  wife,  and  it  seems  will,  by  degrees,  murder  his 
son. 

Is  he  as  artless  as  he  seems  ?  this  too  is  doubtful.  I 
know  there  are  a  number  of  stories  in  circulation  with  regard 
to  the  Tsar  carpenter  in  Saardam.  I  must  confess  I  never 
could  listen  to  them  without  annoyance  ;  they  are  too 
instructive,  too  much  like  pictures  with  explanations. 

"  Verstellte  Einfalt  ;  " — "  Sham  naivete,"  said  a  witty 
German  about  him.  The  Russians  too  have  a  proverb, 
"  The  simpleton  beats  the  knave." 

In  future  all  pedants  and  schoolchildren  will  certainly 

I 


130  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

know  that  Tsar  Peter  darned  his  own  stockings,  mended  his 
boots  for  economy's  sake.  But  it  is  doubtful  whether  they 
will  ever  be  acquainted  with  a  fact  told  me  lately  by  a  Rus- 
sian timber  merchant. 

He  said  that  a  huge  amount  of  unused  oak  timber  was 
lying  near  Lake  Ladoga,  covered  over  with  sand  and  rot- 
ting disused.  And  meanwhile  men  are  lashed  and  hung 
for  the  offence  of  cutting  down  and  stealing  oak.  Human 
life  and  blood  are  cheaper  than  oak  wood.  I  might  add, 
cheaper  than  torn  stockings. 

"C'estun  grand  poseur" — some  one  had  said  about  him. 
One  ought  to  watch  him  kiss  the  Prince  Caesar's  hand 
when  he  has  broken  some  buffoon's  regulation, — "  Forgive, 
sovereign,  forgive  !  We  rough  sailors  are  not  well  versed 
in  ceremony." 

One  can  hardly  trust  one's  eyes  ;  it  is  impossible  to  distin- 
guish where  the  Tsar  ends  and  the  fool  begins. 

He  has  surrounded  himself  with  masks.  The  Tsar  Car- 
penter !  'tis  a  masquerade  after  the  Dutch  fashion  ? 

And  is  not  this  new  Tsar  in  his  simplesse,  in  his  carpenter's 
disguise,  really  further  removed  from  the  common  people, 
than  were  the  ancient  Tsars  of  Muscovy  in  their  cloth  of 
gold  ? 

"  Nowadays  life  is  very  hard,"  complained  the  same 
merchant  to  me,  "  nobody  is  allowed  to  say  anything  ;  the 
truth  never  reaches  the  Tsar.  It  used  to  be  much  simpler 
in  the  old  days."  I  once  heard  the  chaplain  Theodosius 
praise  him  to  his  face  for  the  dissimulation  which,  it  appears, 
political  teachers  are  supposed  to  lay  down  as  the  first  duty 
of  sovereigns. 

I  do  not  judge  him;  I  only  repeat  what  I  hear  and  see. 
All  see  the  hero,  few  the  man.  And  even  if  I  gossip  it  will 
be  forgiven  me,  for  I  am  a  woman.  Some  one  has  said : 
"  This  man  is  very  good  and  very  bad  ;  "  as  for  me,  I  must 
once  more  repeat  :  "  I  know  not  whether  he  is  better  or 
worse  than  other  men,  but  it  sometimes  seems  to  me  that 
he  is  not  quite  human." 

The  Tsar  is  pious.  He  reads  the  Acts,  and  sings  with  as 
much  confidence  as  the  priests  themselves,  seeing  he  knows 
the  lauds  and  liturgies  by  heart.  He  composes  prayers 
for  the  soldiers. 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    131 

Sometimes  during  a  conversation  about  military  or  state 
affairs  he  suddenly  lifts  his  eyes  to  heaven,  crosses  himself 
and  says  a  short  prayer  with  evident  devotion  :  "  O  God 
take  not  Thy  grace  from  us  in  the  days  to  come  !  "  or,  "  Lord 
grant  us  Thy  mercy,  for  in  Thee  have  we  put  our  trust !  " 

This  is  not  hypocrisy.  No  doubt  he  believes  in  God, 
as  he  says  he  puts  his  trust  in  the  "  Lord,  strong  in  battle." 
Yet  it  would  seem  as  if  his  God  were  not  the  God  of 
the  Christians,  but  of  the  pagans.  Mars,  or  Nemesis — 
Fate  herself.  Never  breathed  a  human  being  less  like 
a  Christian  than  Peter.  What  connection  is  there  between 
the  sword  of  Mars  and  the  lilies  of  the  Gospels  ? 

I  have  just  read  a  curious  new  book  published  in  Ger- 
many under  the  title — Curieuse  Nachricht  von  der  itzigen 
Religion  I.  K.  M.  in  Russland  Petri  Alezieviz  und  seines 
grossen  Reiches,  dass  dieselbe  itzo  fast  nach  Evangelisch- 
Lutherischen  Grundsdtzen  eingerichtet  sei. 

Here  are  a  few  extracts  from  it.  "  We  are  not  far  wrong 
in  stating  that  his  Majesty's  conception  of  true  religion 
takes  the  form  of  the  Lutheran  faith." 

"  The  Tsar  has  abolished  the  Patriarchate,  and,  follow- 
ing the  example  of  Protestant  Princes,  he  has  declared  him- 
self the  chief  Bishop,  that  is  Patriarch  of  the  Russian  church. 
On  his  return  from  a  journey  to  foreign  countries  he  at  once 
entered  into  discussions  with  his  priests,  and  being  con- 
vinced of  their  ignorance  on  questions  of  faith — indeed  they 
could  hardly  read — he  instituted  schools  where  they  might 
apply  themselves  more  diligently  to  study. 

"  Now  that  the  Russians  are  reasonably  taught  and  educa- 
ted in  schools,  all  the  superstitious  beliefs  and  customs 
must  of  themselves  disappear,  for  no  one,  except  the  most 
ignorant  and  simple-minded,  can  believe  in  such  things. 
In  these  schools  the  system  of  teaching  is  quite  Lutheran, 
and  the  young  people  are  brought  up  according  to  the  rules 
of  true  Christian  religion.  The  monasteries  are  reduced  in 
number,  and  therefore  can  no  longer,  as  in  olden  times, 
shelter  great  numbers  of  idle  folk,  who  are  a  burden  to  the 
state  and  a  danger  in  times  of  revolt.  Now,  the  monks 
are  obliged  to  learn  what  is  useful,  and  everything  is 
ordered  in  a  praiseworthy  manner.  Miracles  and  relics 
no  longer  command  the  reverence  they  formerly  did ;   in 


132  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Russia,  as  in  Germany,  people  have  begun  to  believe 
that  there  is  much  swindling  in  connection  with  religious 
ceremonial." 

I  know  the  Tsarevitch  has  read  this  book.  What  must 
his  feelings  have  been  during  Ih^  perusal  ! 

***** 

I  was  present  one  day  when,  whle  at  their  wine  in  the 
oakgrove  of  the  Summer  Garden,  where  the  Tsar  likes  to 
converse  with  the  clergy,  the  Administrator  of  Spiritual 
Affairs,  the  Archimandrite  Theodosius,  was  elaborating 
reasons  :  "  Why  and  in  what  sense  1h3  Roman  Emperors, 
both  pagan  and  Thristian,  termed  themselves  Pontifex  and 
high  priests  of  the  polytheistic  faith."  It  appeared  that  the 
Tsar  was  the  head  prelate.  High  Priest,  and  Patiiarch. 
This  Russian  monk  very  skilfully  and  adroitly  proved 
that,  according  to  "  Leviathan  "  by  the  English  Atheist 
Hobbes,  the  maxim  "  Civitatem  et  ecclesiam  eandem  rem 
esse  " — "  the  state  and  the  church  are  one  and  the  same  " 
— certainly  did  not  advocate  converting  the  state  into  a 
church,  but  on  the  contrary,  the  conversion  of  the  church 
into  the  state.  The  monstrous  animal — Leviathan,  fabric 
of  the  state — was  swallowing  up  the  Church  of  God,  so  that 
there  would  remain  no  trace  of  it.  These  discussions  might 
serve  as  an  interesting  monument  of  monkish  cringing  and 
flattery  before  the  sovereign. 

*  *  *  «  * 

It  is  said  that  already  at  the  end  of  last  year,  1714,  the 
Tsar  called  together  the  spiritual  and  lay  dignitaries,  to 
whom  he  solemnly  declared  that  he  wishes  to  be  the  sole 
head  of  the  Russian  Church,  and  leaves  it  to  them  to 
establish  a  spiritual  association  under  the  name  of  the 
"  Holy  Synod." 

***** 

The  Tsar  is  planning  a  campaign  against  India,  in  the 
footsteps  of  Alexander  the  Great.  To  imitate  Alexander 
and  Caesar,  to  unite  the  East  with  the  West,  to  found  a  new 
world  -wide  monarchy,  these  are  the  Russian  Tsar's  deepest 
and  dearest  desires. 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    133 

Theodosius  tells  tha  Tsar,  "  You  are  the  God  of  the  Earth, 

For  this  is  the  meaning  of  Di\ais  Caesar. 

***** 

At  the  Poltava  celebrations  the  Russian  Tsar  was  repre- 
sented on  one  of  the  allegorical  pictures  as  Apollo,  the 
ancient  Sun-God. 

I  learn  that  th3  dead  heads  which  are  still  on  the  poles 
near  Trinity  Church,  opposite  to  the  Senate-house,  were 
the  heads  of  Raskolniks  who  have  been  beheaded  for  call- 
ing the  Tsar  "  Antichrist." 

October  20. 

An  old  invalid,  an  army  captam,  comes  sometimes  into 
our  kitchen.  He  is  a  pathetic-looking  moth-eaten  creature ; 
his  head  trembles,  his  nose  is  red,  and  he  has  a  wooden  leg  ; 
he  terms  himself  a  "  granary  rat."  I  treat  him  to  brandy 
and  tobacco,  and  we  talk  about  Russian  military  affairs. 

He  is  very  cheerful  and  sprinkles  his  speech  with  quaint 
sayings,  such  as  "  A  soldier  serves  a  hundred  years  yet  does 
not  earn  a  hundred  sous  ;  "  Grain  is  satisfying,  water  intox- 
icating ;  "  "  Shave  with  an  awl,  warm  thyself  with  smoke." 
He  has  three  doctors — brandy,  garlic  and  Death. 

When  almost  a  child  he  became  a  drummer  boy ;  he  has 
taken  part  in  all  the  campaigns  from  Asoff  to  Poltava,  and 
has  been  rewarded  by  the  Father  Tsar  with  a  handful  of 
nuts  and  a  kiss  on  the  head.  When  speaking  of  the  Tsar 
he  seems  to  become  transfigured  ;  and  to-day  he  told  me 
about  the  battle  near  the  Red  Farm. 

"  We  stood  firm  for  the  House  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  the 
Serene  Majesty  our  Tsar,  and  the  Christian  Faith  ;  we  died 
for  one  another.  We  all  cried  with  a  great  voice  :  '  Lord 
God  !  Help  us  !  '  Then  we  beat  the  Swedish  regiments, 
both  infantry  and  artillery,  by  the  help  of  the  prayers  of 
the  saints  of  Holy  Moscow." 

He  also  attempted  to  repeat  the  Tsar's  speech  to  his  army. 

"  '  Children  I  have  begotten  you  in  the  sweat  of  my  toil. 
The  state  cannot  exist  without  you,  any  more  than  the 
body  without  a  soul.  You  have  shown  your  love  to  God, 
to  me,  and  your  country ;  you  have  not  spared  your  lives.'  " 
The  old  man  suddenly  started  up  on  his  wooden  leg,  his 
nose  grew  redder  yet,  a  tear  hung  on  its  tip  like  a  dew- 


134  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

drop  on  a  ripe  plum,  and  waving  his  old  hat  he  exclaimed : 

"  Vivat  !  vivat  !  vivat  !  Peter  the  Great  !  Emperor 
of  all  the  Russias  !  " 

Up  till  now  I  had  heard  no  one  call  the  Tsar  "  Emperor." 
yet  I  was  not  surprised.  Such  fire  lit  up  the  dim  eyes  of  the 
"granary  rat"  that  a  cold  shiver  ran  through  me  ;  a  vision 
of  ancient  Rome  seemed  to  flash  before  me  ;  I  heard  the 
rustle  of  victorious  standards,  the  trampling  of  brazen 
cohorts,  the  cries  of  soldiers,  the  acclamations  of  divine 
Caesar,  '  Divus  Caesar  Imperator  !  ' 

October  23. 

We  have  been  to  the  People's  market  on  the  Trinity 
square,  a  long  whitewashed  building  erected  by  the  Italian 
architect  Tresina  ;  it  is  roofed  with  tiles  and  has  arcades, 
such  as  are  seen  in  Verona  or  Padua.  We  went  into  the 
bookshop,  the  first  and  only  one  in  Petersburg,  which  has 
been  opened  by  order  of  the  Tsar  ;  Basil  Evdokimoff,  a 
printer,  is  the  manager.  Besides  books,  Slavonic  and 
translated,  thsre  are  sold  here  calendars,  decrees,  primers, 
plans  of  battles,  and  "royal  persons";  that  is,  portraits, 
and  pictures  of  triumphant  entries.  The  books  sell  badly. 
In  the  course  of  two  or  three  years  not  a  single  copy  of  some 
publications  has  been  sold.  Calendars  and  decrees  in  rela- 
tion to  bribes  sell  better  than  anything  else. 

The  director  of  the  first  prhiting  press  in  Petersburg,  a 
certain  Avramoff,  a  strange  but  rather  clever  man,  whom 
we  chanced  to  meet  in  the  shop,  told  us  how  difficult  it  is 
to  get  the  foreign  books  translated  into  Russian.  The 
Tsar  is  always  in  a  great  hurry,  and  demands,  under  threat 
of  severe  lashing,  that  the  book  should  be  translated  in  an 
impossibly  short  time,  intelligibly  and  in  good  style.  The 
translators  weepingly  complain  that  it  is  impossible  to 
hurry  with  the  involved  German  style,  which  is  incompre- 
hsnsible,  confused  and  heavy.  Sometimes  it  has  happened 
that  despite  incredible  labour  ten  lines  a  day  could  not  be 
rendered  successfully.  Boris  Wolkoff,  the  translator  to 
the  foreign  department,  despaired  of  translating  Le 
Jardinage  de  Quintiny,  and,  fearing  the  Tsar's  wrath, 
killed  himself  by  ojiening  his  veins. 

Knowledge  does  not  come  easily  to  Russians. 

These  translations  which  cost  so  much  sweat,  and  even 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    135 

blood,  are  neither  read  nor  needed  by  any  one.  Not  long 
ago  a  number  of  books  which  did  not  sell,  and  which  were 
taking  up  too  much  room  in  the  shop,  were  piled  up  in  the 
shed  of  the  Armoury  court.  During  the  flood  they  were 
covered  with  water,  and  they  are  now  spoilt,  partly  by 
damp,  partly  by  hemp  oil,  which,  for  some  inexplicable 
reason,  has  found  its  way  among  them,  while  many  are 
mouse-eaten. 

November  14. 

We  have  been  to  the  theatre.  The  large  wooden  struc- 
ture, the  "  Comedy  House,"  is  not  far  off  the  Foundry. 
The  performance  begins  at  six  p.m.,  for  which  tickets, 
printed  on  stout  paper,  can  be  obtained  in  a  separate 
office  ;  the  poorest  seat  costs  forty  kopecks.  The  audi- 
ences are  scanty,  and,  but  for  the  court,  the  actors  would  die 
of  starvation.  The  felt  on  the  walls  does  not  prevent  the 
building  being  cold,  damp  and  draughty  ;  the  tallow  can- 
dles smoke  ;  the  poor  music  is  always  out  of  tune,  and,  to 
crown  all,  the  people  in  the  pit  noisily  crack  their  nuts  and 
rail  at  one  another  the  whole  time.  The  comedy  of  "  Don 
Juan  and  Don  Pedro  "  was  the  piece,  a  Russian  translation 
from  the  German,  which  itself  was  an  adaptation  from  the 
French  "Don  Juan."  After  every  act  the  curtain  went 
down,  leaving  us  in  utter  darkness  during  the  scene  shifting. 
My  neighbour,  chamberlain  Brandenstein,  was  very  much 
put  out  by  this.  He  whispered  to  me  :  Welch  ?-in  Hund 
von  Komodie  istdas?  " — "What  devil  of  a  comedy  is  this  ?  " 
I  could  hardly  restrain  my  laughter.  Don  Juan  was  in 
the  garden  talking  with  the  woman  he  had  seduced. 

"  Come  my  love,  let  us  recall  that  pleasant  time  when 
undisturbed  we  enjoyed  the  delights  of  spring,  the  green 
buds  of  love.  Let  our  rapture  be  completed  by  the  sight 
of  these  flowers  and  their  delicious  smell." 

I  liked  the  song  : 

He  who  knows  not    love 

Know  not  what  deceit  is. 

They  call  a  God,   this  love 

Who  torments  more  than  death  does. 

Each  act  was  followed  by  an  intermezzo  which  generally 
ended  in  a  scuffle. 

Bibernstein,  who  had  dropped  asleep,  had  a  silk  hand- 


T36  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

kerchief  stolen  from  his  pocket ;  young  Loewenwald  a  sil- 
ver snuff-box. 

Another  piece  followed,  entitled  "  Daphne,  pursued  by 
the  love  sick  Apollo,  is  transformed  into  a  Laurel  tree." 

Apollo  threatens  the  nymph  : 

I  will  force  thee  to  submit, 
I  really  cannot  suffer  it. 

She  answers  : 

Yoii  so  rudely  do  behave, 
That  to  love  you  I  don't  crave. 

At  this  moment  some  drunken  grooms  began  fighting 
together  at  the  entrance.  People  hurried  to  separate  them  ; 
they  were  whipped,  and  the  dialogue  of  the  God  and  the 
Nymph  was  drowned  amid  groans  and  ribald  shouting. 

At  last  the  morning  star  Phosphoros  announced  :  "The 
play  is  over,  our  best  thanks  to  you,  'tis  time  for  bed." 

We  were  given  a  manuscript  programme  announcing  a 
performance  in  another  tent  :  "  For  fifty  kopecks  each  per- 
son will  be  entitled  to  witness  the  performance  of '  Doctor 
Faustus  '  by  Italian  Marionettes  or  Dolls,  two  yards  high, 
who  will  walk  about  the  stage,  and  act  almost  as  adroitly 
as  living  actors.  The  Trained  Horse  will  perform  as  be- 
fore." 

I  must  confess,  I  never  expected  to  see  Faustus  in  Peters- 
burg, much  less  in  the  company  of  a  learned  horse  ! 

Not  long  ago,  at  this  same  theatre,  Moliere's  "  Precieuses 
ridicules  "  was  performed.  I  procured  the  translation  and 
read  it.  The  Tsar  had  ordered  one  of  his  fools,  the 
"  King  of  the  Samoyeds,"  to  make  the  translation  ;  the 
translator  was  jnobably  drunk  when  he  did  it,  for  some  of 
the  passages  were  quite  unintelligible.  Poor  Moliere  !  the 
monstrous  galanteries  of  a  Samoyed  are  as  graceful  as  those 
of  a  white  dancing  bear. 

Novernher  23. 

A  hard  frost  with  a  piercing  wind,  a  real  ice-storm.  The 
noses  and  ears  of  pedestrians  are  frostbitten  before  they 
know  it.  It  is  said  that  in  one  night  700  working  men  have 
been  frozen  to  death  between  Petersburg  and  Kronslot. 

Wolves  have  appeared  in  the  streets,  even  in  the  centre 
of  the  town  ;   a  few  days  ago  wolves  fell  on  the  sentinel  at 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   137 

night  near  the  foundry,  which  is  close  to  the  theatre  where 
"  Daphne  and  Apollo "  had  been  performed.  Another 
soldier  came  to  his  rescue,  but  he  too  was  almost  instantly 
torn  to  pieces  and  devoured.  A  woman  and  her  child  have 
been  eaten  by  wolves  in  broad  daylight,  not  far  from  Prince 
Menshikoff's  palace  on  the  Basil  Island. 

Not  less  terrible  than  the  wolves  are  the  robbers.  Sen- 
try huts,  barriers,  hunting  poles,  sentinels  with  large  clubs 
and  night  watches,  "like  those  in  Hamburg."  do  not  suffice 
to  intimidate  the  robbers.  Every  night,  either  some  house 
is  broken  into,  or  some  stealthy  burglary  or  murder  takes 
place. 

November  30. 

A  moist  wind — and  the  snow  and  ice  have  melted.  The 
mud  is  impassable.  There  is  a  stench  of  marsh,  dung,  and 
rotten  fish.     Epidemics  abound. 

December  4. 

Again  frost — frost  without  snow.  It  is  so  slippery  that 
one  runs  the  risk  of  breaking  one's  neck  at  every  step. 

And  these  changes  of  temperature  continue  throughout 
the  winter.  Nature  seems  not  only  cruel,  but  positively 
mad. 

An  unnatural  city  !  How  can  art  and  knowledge  flour- 
ish ?  They  have  a  saying  here  :  "  No  time  for  luxuries — • 
we  can  only  just  manage  to  live." 

December  10. 

Went  to  an  Assembly — a  rout  at  Tolstoi's  : 

Mirrors,  glass,  powder,  beauty  spots,  hoop-petticoats, 
and  curtesies  and  bows — just  as  we  have  in  Europe,  in 
Paris  and  in  London. 

The  host  himself  is  an  amiable,  learned  man.  He  trans- 
lates Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  and  the  political  advice 
of  Niccolo  Machiavelli,  the  noble  citizen  of  Florence.  He 
took  me  through  the  minuet,  addressing  me  with  compli- 
ments from  Ovid.  He  compared  me  to  Galatea,  because  of 
my  skin,  "  white  as  marble."  and  my  black  hair,  "  the 
colour  of  hyacinth  " — an  entertaining  old  gentleman  ! 
clever,  yet  a  thorough  paced  knave.  I  will  note  down  a 
few  sayings  of  this  modern  Machiavelli  : 

"  When  good  luck  comes  it  is  not  enough  to  grasp  it  with 
both  hands,  try  also  to  catch  hold  of  it  with  your  teeth  and 
swallow  it." 


138  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  To  live  in  high  favour  is  hke  walking  on  a  glass 
floor." 

"  A  lemon  which  is  too  much  squeezed  will  give  bitter- 
ness instead  of  flavour." 

"  To  know  the  human  mind  and  character  is  the  highest 
philosophy.  It  is  more  difficult  to  understand  men  than 
to  know  many  books  by  heart," 

Listening  to  Tolstoi's  witty  remarks — he  spoke  to  me,  now 
in  Russian,  now  in  Italian — to  the  delicate  strainaof  the 
French  minuet,  I  looked  at  the  poHte  gathering  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  where  everything  was  almost  the  same  as 
"  in  Paris  or  London,"  3'et  I  could  not  forget  what  I  had 
just  seen  on  my  way  thither.  Before  the  Senate  on  the 
Trinity  Square  rose  those  gaunt  poles,  bearing  the  same 
heads  as  in  May  at  the  time  of  the  masquerade.  They  dried, 
grew  wet,  froze,  melted,  froze  again,  and  stifl  they  had  not 
disappeared.  A  huge  moon  was  rising  from  behind  Trinity 
Church,  and  the  black  heads  stood  out  sharply  against  the 
red  glow.  A  crow  perched  on  one  of  them,  cawing  and 
pecking  at  the  skin.  This  vision  was  before  me  all  the 
evening.     Asia  was  casting  a  shadow  over  Europe. 

The  Tsar  arrived  ;  he  was  not  in  a  good  humour.  He 
shook  his  head  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  such  a  way  as 
to  make  every  one  present  tremble.  On  entering  the  danc- 
ing room  he  found  it  too  hot,  and  wanted  a  window  opened. 
The  windows  were  nailed  up  on  the  oustide.  The  Tsar 
ordered  an  axe  to  be  brought,  and  together  with  two  order- 
lies he  set  to  work  upon  it.  He  ran  out  into  the  street  to 
see  how  the  window  had  been  nailed  up.  At  last  he  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  the  frame  out.  The  window  remained 
open  only  for  a  short  time,  and  it  was  not  cold  outside  ; 
snow  was  again  melting,  and  a  west  wind  was  blowing. 
Yet,  nevertheless,  it  caused  a  strong  draught  in  the  rooms, 
and  the  lightly  dressed  ladies  and  shivery  old  men  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  themselves.  This  performance  had 
tired  Peter  and  had  made  him  perspire,  but  he  seemed  in 
better  spirits. 

"  Your  Majesty,"  said  the  Austrian  Resident  Pleyer,  a 
very  courteous  gentleman,  "  you  have  broken  a  window 
into  Europe." 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   139 

The  seal  which  was  used  for  seahng  the  Tsar's  letters 
addressed  to  Russia  during  his  first  journey  abroad,  repre- 
sented a  young  carpenter  surrounded  by  a  shipwright's 
tools  and  the  arms  of  war,  with  the  inscription  : — 

"  I  am  a  scholar,  and  what  I  ask  for  is  teachers." 


Another  emblem  of  the  Tsar's  is  Prometheus  bringing  a 
burning  torch  to  men  from  the  gods. 

The  Tsar  says  :   "I  will  create  a  new  race  of  men." 
***** 

The  following  story  was  related  to  me  by  the  "  granary 
rat."  The  Tsar  desires  that  oaks  should  be  grown  every- 
where, and  was  himself  planting  some  acorns  near  Peters- 
burg, along  the  Peterhof  road.  Noticing  that  one  of  the 
bystanders,  a  dignitary,  was  smihng  at  his  work,  the  Tsar 
angrily  remarked  : 

"  I  understand  ;  you  think  I  shall  not  live  to  see  the  full- 
grown  oaks  ;  you  are  right.  Nevertheless  you  are  a  fool : 
I  set  an  example  for  others  to  follow,  so  that  our  descendants 
may  one  day  use  these  trees  for  building  ships.  It  is  not 
for  myself  I  toil ;  the  welfare  of  the  state  comes  first." 
***** 

Another  story  from  the  same  source. 

A  decree  of  his  Majesty  commanded  that  all  children  of 
the  nobility  should  matriculate  in  Moscow  at  the  Sou- 
khareva  Tower  for  the  learning  of  Navigation.  The  nobility, 
however,  instead,  enrolled  their  children  at  the  Spassky 
monastery  in  Moscow  to  learn  Latin.  On  hearing  this  the 
monarch  was  sorely  angered  and  ordered  the  Governor  ot 
Moscow,  Prince  Romodanovsky,  to  take  all  the  children 
from  the  monastery  and  bring  them  to  Petersburg,  where 
they  were  made  to  drive  in  piles  along  the  Moika  for  the 
foundation  of  hemp  sheds.  The  Admiral,  Count  Fedor 
Apraksin,  Prince  Menshikoff,  Prince  James  Dolgoruki,  and 
other  senators,  not  daring  to  trouble  his  Majesty,  petitioned 
his  Majesty's  helpmate,  the  Tsaritsa  Catherine,  on  their 
knees,  with  tears  in  their  eyes ;  yet  it  was  impossible 
to  appease  his  Majesty's  wrath.     Then  Admiral  Apraksin 


140  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

conceived  this  plan  :  he  set  watchmen  to  let  him  know 
when  the  Emperor  should  drive  past  the  working  chil- 
dren. Directly  they  informed  him  that  the  Tsar  was 
coming,  Apraksin  hurried  up  to  the  young  toiling  boys, 
took  off  his  decoration  and  kaftan,  hung  them  on  a  pole, 
and  began  to  drive  in  piles  with  the  children.  The  Tsar 
noticing  the  Admiral  thus  employed  stopped  and  said  to 
him  : — . 

"  Fedor  Matvievitch  !  you  are  an  Admiral  and  a  Knight. 
Why  do  you  drive  in  piles  ?  " 

To  which  the  Admiral  replied  :  — 

"  My  nephews  and  grandsons  are  driving  in  piles,  and 
who  am  T  specially  to  enjoy  the  prerogatives  of  rank  ?  As 
for  the  decoration  granted  to  me  by  your  Majesty,  it  hangs 
on  the  post,  I  have  not  dishonoured  it." 

On  hearing  this  the  Tsar  continued  on  his  way  to  the 
palace,  and  twenty-four  hours  later  he  published  a  decree 
liberating  the  young  nobles  ;  yet  at  the  same  time  he 
enrolled  them  to  learn  divers  practical  crafts  and  arts 
abroad.  He  was  angered  ;  and  so  even  after  driving  in  piles 
they  did  not  escape  technical  instruction. 

One  of  the  few  Russians,  who  are  in  sympathy  with  the 
new  order  of  things,  said  to  me  in  reference  to  the  Tsar  : — 

"  Whatever  you  look  at  in  Russia  has  been  started  by 
him  ;  and  anything  done  in  the  future  will  be  traced  back 
to  this  origin.  He  has  renewed  all  things,  has  caused 
Russia  to  be  born  anew. 

December  28. 

The  Tsarevitch  has  returned  as  unexpectedly  as  he  went. 

Januray  26,  1715. 

We  had  visitors  ;  Baron  Loewenwold.  the  Austrian 
Resident  Pleyer,  the  Hanoverian  Secretary  Weber,  and  the 
court  physician  Blumentrost.  After  supper,  over  the  wine, 
conversation  turned  on  the  new  ways  introduced  by  the 
Tsar.  They  spoke  freely,  being  among  themselves,  with  no 
strangers   or   Russians   present. 

"  The  Muscovites,"  said  Pleyer  "  do  everything  because 
they  are  com):)elled  to  do  it.  Should  the  Tsar  die.  farewell 
to  all  knowledge.     Russia  is  a  country  where  everything 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   141 

is  begun  and  nothing  finished.  The  Tsar  acts  upon  his 
people  like  strong  brandy  on  iron ;  he  drives  knowledge 
into  his  subjects  with  the  lash  and  the  rod,  believing  in 
the  Russian  proverb  :  '  the  stick  though  dumb  can  teach.' 
Puffendorf  was  right  in  describing  this  people  as  • 
'  a  servile  people  who  humble  themselves  like  slaves, 
and  love  to  be  kept  in  obedience  by  the  cruelty  of  their 
rulers.'  To  them  would  also  apply  the  words  of  Aristotle, 
as  to  barbarians  in  general  :  '  quod  in  libertate  mali,  in 
servitute  boni  sunt.'  True  enlightenment  inspires  hatred 
of  slavery.  And  the  Russian  Tsar  is  by  the  nature  of  his 
power  a  despot ;  what  he  needs  are  slaves.  That  is  why  he 
zealously  introduces  arithmetic,  navigation,  fortification, 
and  other  elementary  and  useful  knowledge  to  his  people  ; 
yet  he  will  never  let  his  subjects  gain  that  true  enlighten- 
ment which  requires  freedom.  And,  after  all,  he  himself 
neither  understands  nor  likes  it ;  all  he  seeks  in  knowledge 
is  utility.  He  prefers  Perpetuum  mobile,  the  absurd 
invention  of  Orphireus,  to  all  the  philosophy  of  Leibnitz, 
^sop  he  considers  to  be  the  greatest  philosopher.  He  has 
prohibited  the  translation  of  Juvenal,  declaring  that  the 
composer  of  a  single  satire  will  be  liable  to  the  severest 
torture.  Enlightenment  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  the 
power  of  Russia's  Tsars  as  sunshine  to  the  snow.  When 
feeble  the  snow  shimmers  and  dazzles  ;  when  strong  the 
snow  melts." 

"  Who  can  tell,"  remarked  Weber  with  a  meaning  smile, 
"  the  Russians  in  taking  Europe  for  their  pattern  may  have 
honoured  her  above  her  deserts.  Imitation  is  always 
dangerous.  Vices  are  more  easily  imitated  than  virtues, 
as  a  Russian  well  expressed  it.  The  foreign  infectious 
corruption  eats  out  the  ancient  health  of  Russian  souls  and 
bodies  ;  roughness  of  character  has  lessened,  but  only 
flattery  and  servility  have  taken  its  place  ;  we  have 
outlived  our  old  common-sense,  but  we  have  not  acquired 
any   new   sense  ;    we   shall   all   die   fools  ! '  " 

"  The  Tsar,"  rejoined  Baron  Loewenwold,"  is  far  from 
being  the  humble  pupil  of  Europe  for  which  many  take  him 
One  day,  when  French  customs  and  temperament  were 
highly  praised  in  his  presence,  he  said  :  '  It  is  well  to  imitate 
their  arts  and  science — as  for  the  rest,  Paris  is  rotten,'  and 


142  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

then  he  added  with  a  prophetic  air,  '  I  am  sorry  that  the 
inhabitants  of  that  town  will  perish  from  its  corruption.' 
I  have  not  heard  it  myself,  but  I  was  told  another  saying 
of  his  which  friends  of  Russia  in  Europe  would  do  well  to 
remember,  '  L'Europe  nous  est  necessaire  pour  quelques 
dizaines  d'annees  ;  apres  quoi  nous  lui  tournerons  le 
dos.' — '  We  need  Europe  for  some  few  decades,  after  which 
we  will  turn  our  backs  upon  her.'  " 

Count  Pepper  gave  some  extracts  from  a  book  which  had 
lately  been  published,  "  La  crise  dii  nord,"  about  the  war 
between  Russia  and  Sweden,  in  which  it  was  proved  that 
the  Russian  victory  was  a  sign  that  the  end  of  the  world 
was  drawing  nigh,  and  that  the  insignificance  of  Russia  was 
necessary  for  the  welfare  of  Europe.  The  Count  also 
recalled  the  words  of  Leibnitz  which  were  uttered  by  the 
great  philosopher  before  Poltava,  while  he  was  still  the 
friend  of  Sweden  :  "  Moscovy  will  be  a  second  Turkey  and 
will  open  the  way  to  new  barbarisms,  which  will  annihilate 
all    European    civilization  !  " 

Blumentrost  reassured  us,  saying  that  brandy,  together 
with  venereal  diseases,  which  had  spread  with  amazing 
rapidity  during  late  years  from  Poland  across  to  the  White 
Sea,  would  depopulate  Russia  in  less  than  a  century. 
"  Brandy  and  syphilis  are,  so  to  speak,  two  scourges  sent 
by  God's  providence  to  save  Europe  from  a  new  invasion 
of  barbarians." 

"  Russia,"  concluded  Pleyer,"  is  a  brazen  Colossus  on 
clay  feet.     It  will  fall  and  break,  and  nothing  will  remain." 

I  profess  no  great  love  for  the  Russians  myself,  but  I  did 
not  expect  my  compatriots  to  hate  Russia  so  much.  To  me 
there  seems  behind  this  hatred  a  secret  fear  ;  as  if  we 
Germans  had  a  presentiment  that  one  will  eventually 
swallow  up  the  other,  either  we  them,  or  they  us. 

Jcmuayy  17. 

"  Well,  Fraulein  Juliana,  what  have  you  decided  about 
me  ?  Am  I  fool  or  a  knave  ?  "  The  Tsarevitch  stopped 
me  this  morning  on  the  staircase  with  this  question. 

At  first  I  could  not  understand  what  he  meant,  and, 
thinking  he  was  drunk,  I  tried  to  pass  without  answering 
him.  Yet  he  detained  me,  and  continued,  looking  me 
straight  in  the  face  : — 


PRIVATE   JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   143 

"  It  will  be  interesting  to  know  which  of  lis  will  eat  up 
the  other,  you  us,  or  we  you  ?  " 

Then  only  did  I  perceive  that  he  had  read  my  diary. 
I  had  lent  it  to  her  Highness  for  a  short  time,  as  she  had 
expressed  the  desire  to  read  it ;  the  Tsarevitch  had,  prob- 
ably, been  in  her  room  in  her  absence  and  seeing  the  diary 
he  had  read  it. 

I  was  so  confused,  that  I  was  ready  to  fall  through  the 
earth.  I  blushed  up  to  the  very  roots  of  my  hair,  almost 
crying  Hke  a  school-girl  trapped  in  a  fault.  And  he 
continued  to  scrutinise  me  in  silence,  as  if  delighting 
in  my  confusion.  At  last,  making  a  desperate  effort,  I 
tried  to  escape,  but  he  caught  hold  of  my  hand.  My  heart 
sank  within  me  for  very  fear. 

"  Well,  you  have  been  caught,  Fraulein,"  he  laughed  in 
a  merry,  kind  way.  "  Be  more  prudent  in  the  future.  It 
is  well  that  I,  and  not  somebody  else,  read  it.  Your  Lady- 
ship has  a  tongue  as  sharp  as  a  razor,  I  must  say,  though  all 
had  their  share.  But,  to  be  candid,  there  is  much  truth  in 
what  you  say  about  us  ;  there  really  is.  And  though  you 
don't  pat  us  on  the  back,  yet  we  ought  to  be  grateful  for 
your  frankness." 

He  stopped  laughing,  and  a  with  bright  smile  he  warmly 
squeezed  my  hand  like  a  comrade,  as  if  he  were  really  thank- 
ing me  for  the  truth. 

A  strange  man.  These  Russians  are  as  a  rule  strange 
beings.  It  is  impossible  to  foretell  what  they  will  do  or 
say  next. 

The  more  I  think  over  it,  the  more  it  seems  that  there  is 
something  in  them  which  we  Europeans  cannot,  and  never 
will  be  able  to  understand.  To  us  they  are  the  inhabitants 
of  another  planet. 

February  2. 

When  passing  along  the  corridor  this  evening,  the  Tsar- 
evitch hearing  my  footsteps  called,  and  asked  me  to  come 
into  the  dining-room  ;  he  was  alone,  sitting  before  the 
hearth  in  the  dusk.  He  made  me  sit  down  opposite  to  him, 
and  began  to  talk  to  me,  first  in  German,  then  in  Russian  ; 
he  spoke  affectionately,  as  if  we  had  been  old  friends.  He 
told  me  things  of  considerable  interest,  but  I  will  not  put 
all  down  ;   it  would  be  dangerous  both  for  him  and  myself 


144  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

while  I  am  in  Russia.     Here  are  just  a  few  stray  thoughts. 

What  amazed  me  most  of  all  was  to  find  that  he  is  in  no 
wise  such  a  zealous  partisan  of  all  that  is  old,  and  enemy  of 
all  that  is  new,  as  he  is  generally  believed  to  be. 

He  repeated  me  a  Russian  proverb,  "  Age  always  com- 
mends its  own  baldness."  Wrong  is  deep  seated  in  Russia, 
and  unless  the  old  edifice  is  taken  to  pieces,  and  every  log 
carefully  scrutinized,  it  will  be  impossible  to  get  rid  of 
the  ancient  rot  and  decay. 

The  Tsar's  fault  lies  in  his  hurry. 

"  My  father  will  have  everything  done  quickly  ;  one, 
two,  three,  and  a  ship  is  built  !  He  won't  see  that 
rapidit}'  does  not  always  mean  durabihty.  A  blow,  a 
knock,  the  wheel  is  made.  Take  your  seat,  away  we  go, 
how  delightful  !  Suddenly  a  look  behind — the  loose 
spokes  are  all  over  the  ground !  " 

February  i8. 

The  Tsarevitch  has  a  note  book  wherein  he  copies  passages 
from  The  Chronicles  of  Church  and  State,  by  Baronius, 
which  he  says  aj^ply  to  himself,  his  father  and  others  in  such 
a  way  as  to  illustrate  the  difference  between  what  used  to  be 
and  what  exists  now.  He  lent  me  the  notes  to  look  at. 
They  reveal  a  probing  and  liberal  mind.  In  reference  to 
several  legends  in  which  the  miraculous  is  obviously  exagger- 
ated (it  is  true  they  belonged  to  the  Roman  Catholic  period) 
I  saw  annotations  of  this  kind  ;  "  Compare  with  the  Greek." 
"  Doubtful."     "  This  is  hardly  true." 

But  I  was  most  interested  in  those  notes,  in  which  he 
compared  historical  facts  and  incidents  of  ancient  Russia 
and  foreign  nations  with  the  Russia  of  to-day. 

A.D.  305. — "  The  Emperor  Arcadius  ordered  all  those 
who  in  the  least  degree  deviated  from  orthodoxy  to  be 
called  heretics."  (An  allusion  to  the  non-orthodoxy  of  the 
Russian  Tsar.) 

A.D.  455. — "  The  Emperor  Valentinian  was  slain  for 
interfering  with  the  rights  of  the  Church  as  to  adulter3^ 
(An  allusion  to  the  abolition  of  the  Patriarchate,  and  the 
Tsar's  marriage  with  Catherine  during  the  lifetime  of  his 
first  wife,  Eudoxia  Lopoukhin.) 

A.D.  514. — "  Long  coats  were  worn  in  France.  Charles 
the  Great  ordered  short  coats.   Praised  be  the  long  coats, 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   145 

shame  upon  the  short  ones."  (This  was  noted  with  reference 
the  present  ghange  of  Russian  dress.) 

A.D.  814. — "  A  monk  induced  the  Emperor  Leo  to 
reject  the  worship  of  ikons."  (An  allusion  to  the  monk  Theo- 
dosius,  the  Tsar's  chaplain,  who,  it  is  said,  advises  the 
Tsar  to  abolish  the  reverence  of  ikons.) 

A.D.  854. — "  The  Emperor  Michael  played  with  the 
Church  sacraments."  (An  allusion  to  the  institution  of  the 
conclave  of  drunkards,  the  wedding  of  the  mock  Patriarch, 
and  many  other  diversions  of  the  Tsar.) 

Here  are  a  few  more  thoughts. 

"  In  relation  to  the  Papal  power  :  Christ  pronounced  all 
His  disciples  equal.  To  say  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  saved 
without  the  absolution  of  the  Church  is  an  obvious  he,  for 
Christ  said,  '  he  who  believes  on  Me  shall  have  life  ever- 
lasting, not  on  the  Roman  Church,  which  did  not  exist  at 
that  time.  Many  people  were  saved  long  before  the 
Apostles'  preaching  had  even  reached  Rome." 

"  The  Mohammedan  irreligion  spread  owing  to  women. 
Women  have  a  liking  for  false  prophets,"  These  few  words, 
worthy  of  the  great  sceptic  Beyle,  reveal  more  about 
Mohammed  than  any  of  the  learned  researches. 

Tolstoi  said  to  me  one  day,  with  his  sly  foxy  smile,  in 
reference  to  the  Tsarevitch  :  "  The  best  way  to  gain  popu- 
larity is  this,  in  case  of  necessity  to  be  able  to  don  the  skin 
of  the  stupidest  of  beasts." 

I  did  not  comprehend  his  meaning  at  the  time,  only  now 
am  I  beginning  to  understand. 

In  a  work  by  an  antique  English  writer — I  forget  his 
name — entitled  :  "  The  Tragedy  of  Hamlet  the  Dane," 
this  unhappy  prince,  persecuted  by  his  enemies,  pretends 
to  be  either  a  fool  or  a  madman. 

Is  the  Russian  prince  following  Hamlet's  example  ? 
Has  he  not  donned  the  hide  of  the  simplest  of  the  beasts  ? 

It  is  rumoured  that  the  Tsarevitch  once  had  the  courage 
to  be  candid  with  his  father,  and  pleaded  before  him  the 
people's  intense  suffering.  He  has  been  in  disgrace  ever 
since. 


146  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

February  23. 

He  tenderly  loves  his  little  daughter  Natasha. 

To-day  he  spent  the  whole  of  the  morning  sitting  with 
her  on  the  floor,  building  houses  and  huts  out  of  small 
wooden  logs.  He  crawled  about  on  all  fours,  making 
believe  to  be  a  dog,  a  horse,  a  wolf.  He  played  at  ball,  and 
when  it  rolled  under  the  bed  or  cupboard  he  fetched  it  out 
again,  covering  himself  with  dust  and  cobwebs.  He  took 
her  to  his  room,  dandling  her  and  showing  her  to  everybody 
saying  : — 

"  Is  she  not  a  fine  girl  ?  Where  can  you  find  another 
hke  her  ?  " 

He  himself  played  with  her  like  a  httle  boy. 

Natasha  is  clever  beyond  her  age.  When  she  wants  to 
seize  something  forbidden  and  you  threaten  to  tell  her 
mother,  she  at  once  becomes  quiet,  but  if  you  simply  tell 
her  to  stop,  she  will  begin  to  laugh  and  continue  all  the 
more.  When  she  sees  that  her  father  is  in  an  ill -humour 
she  is  very  quiet  and  only  gazes  at  him  ;  if  he  tarns  to  her 
she  laughs  loudly  and  waves  hsr  hands. 

She  fondles  him  like  a  grown  up  person. 

I  have  a  queer  feeling  when  I  watch  her  doing  this.  The 
child  not  only  seems  to  love  him,  but  also  to  pity  him,  as  if 
she  knew  and  saw  something  about  him  which  no  one  else 
is  yet  aware  of.  It  is  an  uncanny  feeling,  like  that  which  I 
felt  when  I  saw  the  father  and  mother  in  a  dark  prophetic 
mirror. 

March  2. 

"  I  know  she  loves  me;  she  left  everything  for  my  sake," 
he  said  once  in  reference  to  his  wife. 

Now  that  I  understand  the  Tsarevitch  better,  I  no  longer 
can  attach  all  the  blame  to  him  only  for  their  hard  life 
together.  Both  are  innocent  and  both  at  fault.  They  are 
too  different,  too  melancholy,  each  in  their  own  way.  Small 
common  griefs  unite,  but  grief  great  and  intense  divides. 

They  are  like  two  persons  seriously  ill — wounded — lying 
on  a  bed  together.  They  cannot  help  each  other  :  and 
the  least  movement  of  either  causes  pain  to  both. 

There  are  people  to  whom  suffering  has  become  second 
nature  ;  without  it  they  feel  out  of  their  natural  element. 
With  such  persons  thoughts  and  sentiments  once  having 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   147 

drooped  will   droop   perpetually,  like   the   branches   of   a 
weeping  willow.     Her  Highness  is  one  of  these  beings. 

The  Tsarevitch  has  much  grief  of  his  own,  and  every  time 
he  sees  his  wife,  he  sees  another  grief,  a  grief  which  cannot 
be  alla^/ed,  so  he  pities  her.  But  love  and  pity  are  not  one 
and  the  same  ;  he  who  wants  to  be  loved  must  eschew  pity. 
I  know  from  personal  experience  what  torture  it  is  to  pity 
where  no  help  can  be  given  ;  at  last  one  begins  to  dread  him 
for  whom  pity  has  so  long  proved  in  vain. 

Yes,  both  are  innocent,  both  are  unhappy,  and  no  one 
but  God  can  help  them.  Poor,  poor  couple  !  I  dread  what 
all  this  may  lead  to  ;  yet  it  were  better  if  the  end  come  soon. 

March  7. 

Her  Highness  is  again  with  child. 

May  12. 

We  are  in  Roshdestveno,  the  Crown  Prince's  country 
house,  seventy  versts  away  from  Petersburg,  in  the  Kopor- 
sky  district. 

I  have  been  ill  for  a  long  time.  They  thought  I  should 
die.  The  thought  of  dying  in  Russia  was  more  terrible  to 
me  than  death  itself.  Her  Highness  brought  me  here  to 
Roshdestveno  to  give  me  a  rest  and  chance  of  recovering  my 
strength  in  the  pure  air. 

Woods  surround  us  ;  all  is  peaceful  ;  nothing  is  heard 
save  the  rustling  of  leaves  and  the  warbling  of  birds.  The 
small  river  Oredesh  hurries  along  like  a  torrent  ;  its  murmur- 
ing rises  from  beneath  the  steep  slope  of  red  clay,  which  is 
now  shrouded  in  a  transparent  haze  of  young  birch  leaves, 
broken  by  the  dark  green  of  the  firs. 

The  wooden  country-house  is  built  like  the  simple  village 
huts.  The  principal  hall,  two  stories  high  with  a  terem  hke 
the  Moscow  palaces,  is  not  yet  finished.  Next  to  it  stands 
a  small  chapel,  with  belfry  and  two  bells,  which  the  Tsar- 
evitch delights  in  ringing  himself.  At  the  gates  an  old 
Swedish  cannon  and  a  small  heap  of  iron  balls  which  are 
covered  with  rust  and  overgrown  with  grass  and  yellow 
spring  flowers.  Altogether  this  is  a  real  monastery — a  kind 
of  cloister  in  the  woods. 

The  walls  inside  the  houses  are  bare  and  show  the  beams  ; 
there  is  a  scent  of  resin,  with  amber  drops  trickling  like  tears 
everywhere.      Holy    lamps    are    glimmering    before    the 


148  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

images.     All  is  bright,  fresh,  clean,  and  innocently  young. 

The  Tsarevitch  is  fond  of  this  spot.  He  says  he  would 
like  to  live  here  always,  and  demands  nothing  better  than 
to  be  left  alone. 

He  reads,  writes  in  the  librar}',  prays  in  the  chapel,  works 
in  the  garden  and  the  orchard,  fishes  and  roams  about  the 
forest.  At  this  moment  I  see  him  from  the  window  of  my 
room.  He  has  just  been  digging  in  the  beds,  planting  bulbs 
of  tulips  from  Haarlem  ;  now  he  stands  resting  on  the  spade, 
as  still,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  catch  some  sound.  Infinite 
stillness  reigns  around.  Only  the  axe  of  a  woodcutter  is 
heard  somewhere  far,  far  away  in  the  wood,  and  the  call  of 
the  cuckoo.  His  face  is  calm  and  joyous.  His  lips  are 
moving  ;  he  is  probably  humming  one  of  his  favourite 
prayers  or  hymns,  the  akathist  of  his  saint,  Alexis  the  Man 
of  God,  or  the  Psalm  : 

"  I  will  sing  unto  the  Lord  all  the  days  of  my  life.  I  will 
sing  unto  my  God  while  I  have  my  being." 

May  16. 

Nowhere  have  I  seen  such  evening  glows  as  here.  To-day 
the  sunset  was  particularly  strange  ;  the  whole  of  the  sky 
bathed  in  blood,  red  clouds  were  scattered  like  rags  of 
bloodstained  garments  ;  it  seemed  as  though  a  murder  or 
some  sacrifice  had  been  performed  in  the  skies,  and  that 
blood  was  running  down  from  heaven  upon  the  earth. 
Amid  the  jet-black  pointed  needles  of  the  firwood  the 
patches  of  red  clay  showed  like  blood  stains. 

As  I  stood  looking  in  amazement  I  heard  a  voice  from 
somewhere  above  me,  coming  as  it  were  from  this  terrible 
sky: 

"  Fraulein  Juliana  !  " 

It  was  the  Tsarevitch  who  called  me,  standing  on  the 
dove  house,  in  his  hand  a  long  pole,  such  as  are  used  here 
to  scare  away  doves.     He  is  a  great  lover  of  doves. 

I  went  up  the  shaky  ladder  and  on  reaching  the  platform 
the  white  doves  started,  like  snow  flakes  to  which  the  evening 
glow  had  given  a  roseate  hue,  surrounding  us  with  the  wind 
and  rustle  of  their  wings. 

We  sat  down  on  the  bench,  and,  little  by  little,  drifted 
again,  as  we  had  repeatedly  done  of  late,  into  a  religious 
discussion. 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    149 

"  Your  Martin  Luther  has  allowed  himself  to  be  guided 
by  the  Spirit  of  the  world  and  by  his  own  personal  predi- 
lections, not  by  the  steadfastness  of  his  soul.  And  you,  poor 
things,  have  allowed  yourselves  to  be  caught  by  the  allure- 
ment of  an  easy  life. 

"  You  have  believed  the  words  of  your  seducer  and  you  left 
the  narrow  difficult  path  ordained  by  Christ  Himself. 
Martin  has  shown  himself  to  be  an  universal  fool  ;  the  great 
poison  of  the  serpent  of  hell  is  hid  in  his  teaching." 

I  have  got  used  to  Russian  pleasantries  and  no  longer  take 
any  notice  of  them  ;  reasonable  proofs  avail  as  much  in 
arguing  with  such  people,  as  a  rapier  against  a  club.  But 
this  time  1  was  roused,  for  some  reason  or  other,  and  I  spoke 
out  all  that  for  a  long  time  I  had  stored  up  within  my  heart. 

I  began  by  showing  that  the  Russians,  while  considering 
themselves  superior  to  all  Christian  people,  lived  in  reality 
worse  than  heathens  ;  they  confess  the  law  of  love,  and 
yet  practise  such  cruelties  as  are  met  with  nowhere  else  in 
the  world  ;  they  fast,  and  during  the  fast  they  drink  like 
beasts  ;  they  go  to  church  and  use  the  most  shocking 
expressions  there  ;  they  are  so  ignorant  that  in  Germany 
young  children  know  more  about  religion  than  adults  and 
priests  in  Russia.  Hardly  one  out  of  a  dozen  could  say  the 
Lord's  Prayer.  A  pious  old  woman  answered  my  question, 
who  is  the  third  person  in  the  Trinity  ?  by  asserting  he 
was  St.  Nicholas  the  wondei"worker.  And  really  this 
Nicholas  is  a  true  Russian  God,  and  one  might  easily  believe 
that  they  had  none  other  God  but  he.  Not  in  vain  did  the 
Swedish  theologian  Botivid  in  1620,  discuss  the  question  in  a 
thesis  at  the  Upsala  Academy,  "  Are  the  Muscovites 
Christians  ?  "  I  know  not  how  much  more  I  would  have  said 
had  not  the  Tsarevitch  stopped  me  ;  he  had  the  whole  time 
listened  with  perfect  calmness,  it  was  this  calm  that  exas- 
perated me. 

"  I  have  meant  for  a  long  time,  to  ask  you,  Fraulein  : 
Do  you  believe  in  the  Divinity  of  Christ  ?  '" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Does  not  j'our  Highness  know 
that  all  we  Lutherans " 

"  I  do  not  speak  generally  now,  I  am  asking  you  in 
particular.  I  had  once  a  talk  with  your  teacher  Leibnitz  : 
he  shifted  and  shuffled,  avoiding  a  direct  answer,  but,  never- 


150  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

theless,  I  at  once  saw  that  he  did  not  truly  believe  in  Christ. 
And  now  what  about  you  ?  " 

He  steadily  looked  at  me.  I  cast  down  my  eyes,  and 
for  some  inexplicable  reason  suddenly  remembered  all  my 
doubts,  my  debates  with  Leibnitz,  the  unsolvable  contra- 
dictions of  metaphysics  and  theology. 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  trying  also  to  shuffle,  "that  Christ 
was  the  best  and  wisest  of  the  sons  of  men." 

"  And  not  God's  son  ?  " 

"  We  are  all  sons  of  God." 

"  And  is  He  like  unto  the  rest  ?  " 

Unwilling  to  lie  I  remained  silent. 

"  Well,  that  is  the  point,"  he  said,  with  such  an  expression 
on  his  face  as  I  had  never  seen  before.  "  Your  people  are 
wise,  learned,  strong,  honourable,  famous.  You  have 
everything  ;  but  you  don't  possess  Christ,  and  you  don't 
need  Him,  you  save  yourselves.  We,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  stupid,  poor,  naked,  drunk,  repugnant,  we  are  worse 
than  barbarians,  worse  than  beasts,  and  are  ever  on  the 
brink  of  falling.  But  we  have  the  Christ,  our  Lord  with 
us,  and  with  us  He  will  remain  from  eternity  to  eternity. 
It  is  by  Him,  our  Light,  that  we  are  saved." 

He  spoke  about  Christ  as  I  had  noticed  the  common 
people,  the  moujiks,  speak  here,  as  if  He  were  their  own, 
one  of  their  family,  a  moujik  just  like  themselves.  I  know 
not  whether  this  is  a  sign  of  the  highest  pride  and  blas- 
phemous, or,  one  of  the  greatest  humility  and  sanctity. 

We  both  remained  silent.  The  doves  were  returning 
to  their  house,  and  settling  dovm  thickly  between  us,  their 
white  fluttering  wings  as  it  were  uniting  us. 

Her  Highness  sent  for  me.  When  I  had  come  down,  I 
turned  round  to  have  a  last  look  at  the  Tsarevitch ;  he  was 
feeding  the  doves.  They  had  surrounded  him,  perched 
on  his  hands,  shoulders,  head.  He  stood  there  high  above 
the  black  charred  wood  in  the  red  blood-stained  sky, 
covered  with  them,  as  if  wrapt  in  white  wings. 

October  31,  1715. 

Now  that  all  is  over  I  will  end  this  diary  also. 

We  had  returned  to  Petersburg  from  Roshdestveno  to- 
wards the  end  of  May.  About  the  middle  of  August- 
ten  weeks  before  the  time  of  her  Highness's  delivery,  she 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   151 

fell  on  the  stairs  and  hurt  her  left  side.  They  say  she 
made  a  false  step,  because  the  heel  of  her  slipper  was  broken, 
but  in  reality  she  fainted.  She  had  seen  below  in  the 
courtyard  the  Tsarevitch  drunk,  embracing  and  kissing 
his  mistress,  the  serf-girl  Afrossinia. 

He  had  been  living  with  her  for  a  long  time  ;  he  does  it 
almost  publicly  ;  on  his  return  from  Karlsbad  he  took  her 
into  the  quarter  of  Ihe  house  which  he  inhabits.  I  did  not 
mention  this  in  my  diary,  afraid  lest  her  Highness  should 
read  it. 

Did  she  know  ?  Even  if  she  did,  she  tried  not  to  know, 
she  did  not  believe  it  till  she  saw  it.  A  serf-girl  is  the 
rival  of  the  Duchess  of  Wolfenbiittel — the  Emperor's 
sister-in-law.  "Things  which  never  happen,  happen  in 
Russia,"  said  a  Russian  to  me.  The  father  with  a  laun- 
dress, the  son  with  a  serf -girl ! 

Some  say  she  is  a  Finnish  woman,  taken  prisoner  by 
soldiers  in  the  same  way  as  the  Tsaritsa  ;  others  say  she  is 
a  serf  belonging  to  the  tutor  of  the  Tsarevitch — Nikiphor 
Viasemski  ;  the  latter  statement  seems  more  probable. 
She  is  handsome  enough,  yet  her  low  origin  is  at  once 
obvious.  She  is  tall,  fair-skinned,  and  has  auburn  hair, 
her  nose  is  slightly  turned  up  ;  her  eyes  are  large,  clear, 
slanting  and  almond  shape  like  a  Kalmuck's,  with  the  un- 
tamed gaze  of  a  wild  goat.  She  seems,  on  the  whole,  to 
have  something  goatlike  about  her,  like  the  female  satyr 
in  Rubens'  picture  of  the  Bacchanalia.  It  is  one  of  those 
faces  which  revolt  us  women,  and  almost  invariably  please 
men.  The  Tsarevitch  is  supposed  to  be  madly  in  love  with 
her.  It  is  said  that  when  they  first  met  she  was  innocent, 
shy,  tameless,  and  for  a  long  time  resisted  him.  He  did 
not  please  her  at  all.  Neither  promises  nor  threats  would 
help.  But  once,  after  a  drinking  bout,  he  met  her  in  one 
of  those  fits  of  madness  which  he,  like  his  father,  is  subject 
to.  He  beat  her  unmercifully  and  nearly  killed  her  ;  then 
threatening  to  stab,  at  last  seduced  her.  Russian  man- 
ners ! 

And  this  is  the  same  being  who  looked  so  like  a  saint 
when  in  the  woods  of  Roshdestveno,  sang  the  akathist  to 
Alexis  the  Man  of  God,  and,  surrounded  by  doves,  spoke 
about  the  Lord  Christ  !     For  the  rest,  it  is  a  special  Russian 


152  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

gift  to  unite  such  extremes — a  gift  which,  thank  the  Lord  ! 
has  as  yet  not  been  revealed  to  us  foohsh  foreigners. 

The  Tsarevitch  himself  once  told  me  :  "  We  Russians 
can  never  keep  the  middle  path,  but  are  always  roving 
either  on  the  heights  or  in  the  abysses." 

After  the  fall  her  Highness  felt  a  pain  in  her  left  side. 
"  I  feel  as  if  pins  were  pricking  my  body  all  over,"  she 
used  to  say,  yet,  on  the  whole,  she  was  calm,  as  if  she  had 
finally  made  up  her  mind,  and  knew  that  nothing  would 
alter  her  decision.  She  never  talked  to  me  about  the 
Tsarevitch  again,  neither  did  she  complain  of  her  lot. 
Only  once  she  said  :  "I  know  I  am  irrevocably  doomed. 
I  hope  my  sufferings  will  soon  end  ;  I  long  for  nothing  in 
the  world  so  eagerly  as  for  death.  Death  is  my  sole  salva- 
tion." 

On  October  12th  she  was  safely  delivered  of  a  boy,  the 
future  heir  to  the  throne,  Peter  Alexyevitch.  The  first 
days  after  her  confinement  she  felt  well,  yet  when  people 
congratulated  her,  and  wished  her  good  health,  she  would 
grow  angry  and  ask  everyone  to  pray  God  to  send  her 
death.  "  I  want  to  die,  and  die  I  will,"  she  said,  with  that 
awful,  calm  determination  which  never  left  her  again.  She 
obeyed  neither  doctors  nor  midwife  ;  she  seemed  purposely 
to  do  everything  which  was  forbidden  her.  On  the  fourth 
day  she  sat  in  an  armchair,  ordered  herself  to  be  carried 
into  another  room,  and  gave  the  child  the  breast  herself. 
That  same  night  she  felt  worse  :  fever  set  in,  sickness, 
convulsions  and  such  pains,  that  she  cried  out  more  than 
at  the  time  of  her  delivery. 

When  the  Tsar,  who  himself  was  ill  at  that  time,  knew 
about  it,  he  sent  Prince  Menshikoff  and  four  court  physicians, 
Areskin,  Polikolo,  and  the  two  Blumentrosts,  to  hold  a 
consultation.     They  found  her  dying,  in  mortis  limine. 

When  they  tried  to  persuade  her  to  take  medicine  she 
tossed  the  glass  to  the  ground,  saying  :  "  Don't  torment 
me,  let  me  go  peacefully,  I  don't  want  to  live." 

The  day  before  her  death  she  summoned  Baron  Loewen- 
wold  and  communicated  to  him  her  last  will  :  none  of  her 
people  were  to  speak  ill  of  the  Tsarevitch,  either  here  or  in 
Germany  ;  she  was  dying  young,  earlier  than  she  expected, 
yet  she  was  content  with  her  lot  and  blamed  none. 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    153 

Then  she  took  leave  of  us  all.  She  gave  me  her  blessing 
like  a  mother. 

The  Tsarevitch  did  not  leave  her.  His  face  was  terrible 
to  look  at.  He  fainted  three  times.  She  did  not  talk  to 
h'm  ;  it  almost  seemed  that  she  did  not  recognize  him. 
Unly  just  before  all  was  over,  when  he  pressed  her  hand 
to  his  lips,  she  looked  at  him  with  a  long  look,  and  said 
something  in  a  low  voice.     All  I  could  hear  was  : — 

"  Soon,  soon  we  shall  see  each  other  again  !  " 

Sh3  died  as  if  she  had  fallen  asleep.  The  dead  face 
expressed  more  happiness  than  it  had  ever  shown  in  her 
lifetime. 

By  the  Tsar's  order  a  post  mortem  examination  was 
made,  he  himself  being  present. 

The  funeral  was  fixed  for  October  27th.  There  was  a 
long  discussion  whether  the  rank  of  a  Crown  Princess 
demanded  cannon  to  be  fired  at  her  funeral  ;  if  so,  how 
many  guns  to  the  salute.  All  the  foreign  ambassadors 
were  questioned  on  the  subject.  The  Tsar  troubled  himself 
more  about  this  cannonade  than  he  had  ever  troubled 
himself  about  the  lot  of  her  Highness  when  alive.  It  was 
decided  not  to  fire. 

The  coffin  was  borne  along  a  narrow  bridge  constructed 
on  purpose,  from  the  house  to  the  Neva.  The  Tsar  and 
Tsarevitch  walked  behind  the  coffin.  The  Tsaritsa  was  not 
present — she  hourly  expected  her  delivery.  A  mourning 
frigate  stood  waiting  on  the  Neva  ;  it  was  draped  with 
black,  and  black  standards  were  hoisted  on  it.  Slowly 
to  the  sounds  of  funeral  music,  the  ship  bore  us  towards 
the  Peter  and  Paul  Cathedral,  not  yet  completed,  where 
the  grave  of  the  Crown  Princess  had  to  remain  under  the 
open  sky  until  the  closing  of  the  vaulted  roof.  The  sky  wept 
over  her  when  alive  ;   it  will  rain  on  her  when  dead. 

The  evening  was  dull  and  calm,  the  sky  seemed  like  the 
vault  of  a  grave  ;  the  Neva,  a  dark  gloomy  mirror.  The 
town,  wrapped  in  mist  appeared  like  a  phantom  or  night- 
mare. All  I  had  experienced,  seen,  and  heard  in  this 
dreadful  city,  now,  more  than  ever,  seemed  to  me  as  a 
dream 

From  the  cathedral  we  returned  at  night  to  the  house 
of  the  Tsarevitch,  for  a  commemoration  banquet.     Here 


154  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

the  Tsar  handed  a  letter  to  his  son  ;    I  learnt  later  that  he 
threatened  to  disinherit  and  curse  him  unless  he  reformed. 

The  next  day  the  Tsaritsa  was  delivered  of  a  son. 

The  fate  of  Russia  wavers  between  those  two  children, 
the  son  and  the  grandson  of  the  Tsar. 

November  i. 

I  went  in  to  the  Tsarevutch  last  evening  to  talk  over  my 
departure  for  Germany.  He  sat  near  the  lighted  stove 
and  was  thrusting  in  burning  papers,  letters  and  man- 
uscripts.    He  is  probably  afraid  of  some  search. 

He  was  holding  in  his  hand  and  was  just  about  to  throw 
into  the  fire  a  small  booklet  in  a  well  worn  leather  binding, 
when — I  am  even  now  amazed  at  my  presumption — I 
inquired  what  it  was.  He  handed  it  to  me.  I  looked  in- 
side. It  was  his  diary  and  notes.  The  ruling  passion  of 
women  in  general,  and  of  myself  in  particular,  is  curiosity. 
It  made  me  be  guilty  of  a  still  greater  presumption,  I 
asked  if  I  might  borrow  it  to  read. 

He  thought  for  a  minute,  then  looking  at  me,  and  with 
his  sweet  childlike  smile  of  which  I  am  so  fond : 

"  Quid  pro  quo — I  read  your  diary,  you  can  read  mine." 

He  made  me  promise  that  I  would  never  talk  to  anybody 
about  these  notes  and  would  return  them  to  be  burnt  on 
the  morrow.  I  have  sat  up  the  whole  night  with  them  ; 
the  booklet  itself  is  really  an  old  Russian  calendar,  a  church 
calendar  printed  at  Kiev.  It  had  been  given  to  the  Tsare- 
vitch  by  the  late  Metropolitan  of  Rostov,  Demetrius,  who 
is  counted  a  saint  by  the  people.  The  Tsarevitch  had  put 
down  his  thoughts  and  the  events  of  his  life  partly  on  the 
margin  and  the  blank  spaces  on  the  pages,  partly  on  separ- 
ate leaflets  either  simply  inserted  or  pasted  in. 

I  decided  to  make  a  copy  of  the  diary. 

I  will  not  break  my  word,  during  my  lifetime  and  his. 
Nobody  shall  know  about  his  notes.  But  they  must  not 
be  irrevocably  lost. 

God  Himself  will  judge  between  father  and  son.  But 
men  have  slandered  the  Tsarevitch.  Let  this  diary,  should 
it  ever  reach  posterity,  accuse  or  justify  him,  in  any  case 
reveal  the  truth. 


c 


CHAPTER    II 

THE    DIARY   OF   TSAREVITCH    ALEXIS 

ROWN    with  Thy   loving   kindness,     0   Lord,    this 
year  which  now  begins ! 


When  on  commissariat  duties  in  Pomerania  by  order 
of  the  author  of  my  being,  ^  I  heard  that  at  Mos- 
cow, in  the  church  of  the  Assumption,  Stephen,  the 
MetropoHtan  of  Riazan,  denounced  the  decree  relating  to 
delators — informers  in  civil  and  church  matters— and  other 
laws  contrary  to  the  Church,  crying  unto  the  people  : — 

"  Be  not  amazed  that  rebellious  Russia  is  agitated  with 
bloody  storms.  How  great  is  the  gulf  between  the  laws  of 
man  and  the  laws  of  God  !  " 

The  Senators  came  to  the  Metropolitan  and  accused  him 
of  spreading  revolt  among  the  people  and  of  touching  upon 
the  Tsar's  honour.  The  whole  incident  was  reported  to  the 
Tsar. 

I  told  the  Metropolitan  to  reconcile  himself  with  my 
father  as  best  he  could.  What  advantage  was  there  in  their 
being  at  variance  with  one  another  ?  I  was  anxious  to  see  a 
reconciliation,  for  if  Stephen  was  deposed  from  his  see,  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  any  one  worthy  to  replace  him. 

Previous  to  this  exhortation  he  used  to  write  to  me  and 
I  to  him ;  not  often,  however,  only  on  important  affairs. 
But  since  then  I  have  stopped  the  correspondence,  and 
broken  off  all  intercourse  with  him,  as  my  father's  anger 
was  kindled  against  him,  and  it  became  therefore  danger- 
ous for  me  to  write  any  longer.  It  is  rumoured  he  will 
be  deposed  from  his  see. 

1  Note  of  Frdulein  Arnheim  :  The  Tsarevitch  always  thus 
designates  his  father  in  the  diary. 

155 


156  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  Metropolitan  concluded  the  above-mentioned  ser- 
mon by  praying  to  Saint  Alexis,  the  Man  of  God,  with 
special  reference  to  mj'self,  a  sinner  : — 

"  O  Saint  of  God  !  remember  thy  namesake,  the  chosen 
keeper  of  God's  laws,  thy  most  faithful  follower,  Tsarevitch 
Alexis  Petrovitch !  Thou  didst  abandon  thy  house  ;  he 
too  wanders  among  strangers.  Thou  wert  bereft  of  slaves, 
subjects,  friends  and  relatives  ;  so  it  is  with  him.  Thou 
art  a  man  of  God  ;  he,  too,  is  a  true  servant  of  Christ.  We 
beseech  thee,  O  Saint  of  God  !  deign  to  protect  thy  name- 
sake, our  only  hope,  shelter  him  under  the  cover  of  thy 
wing,  like  a  dearly  beloved  fledgeling,  and  keep  him,  who 
is  the  very  apple  of  our  eyes,  safe  from  all  evil." 

During  my  stay  in  foreign  parts,  where  by  the  will  of  the 
author  of  my  being  I  had  to  apply  myself  to  the  study  of 
navigation,  fortification,  geometry,  and  other  arts,  I  greatly 
feared  to  die  without  confession  and  the  last  rites  of  the 
church.  So  I  have  written  to  my  chaplain.  Father  James, 
on  the  subject  as  follows  : — 

"  We  have  no  priest  with  us,  nor  is  there  any  possibility 
of  our  procuring  one.  I  entreat  your  hohness  to  find  me  a 
priest  in  Moscow  and  send  him  here  secretly.  Make 
him  discard  all  priestly  insignia  :  shave  his  beard  and  let 
hair  grow  over  his  tonsure,  or  else  shave  his  hair  too,  and 
wear  a  wig  and  foreign  dress.  Let  him  come  under  the 
guise  of  an  orderly  of  mine.  Please  father  do  it !  Have 
mercy  upon  my  soul,  and  let  me  not  die  without  the  conso- 
lation of  the  ciiurch.  This  is  all  I  want  him  for  in  case  of 
death,  and  should  I  live,  he  would  be  my  confessor.  It 
would  be  well  if  he  were  a  young  man.  unmarried  and 
unattached.  Let  his  departure  from  Moscow  be  kept  so 
secret  that  even  his  friends  shall  not  know  whither  he  has 
gone.  As  to  the  shaving  of  the  beard,  let  him  have  no 
misgivings  on  the  point  ;  necessity  alters  even  such  laws  ; 
it  is  better  to  transgress  in  minor  things  than  to  let  a  soul 
perish  without  absolution.  See  to  this  without  delay,  and 
should  you  refrain  from  doing  as  I  ask  you,  God  may  have 
to  call  you  to  account  for  my  soul." 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   157 

On  my  return  to  Petersburg  from  abroad,  the  author  of 
my  days  welcomed  me  graciously  and  inquired  whether  I 
still  remembered  what  I  had  learnt  ?  To  which  I  replied 
"Yes, "as  if  I  really  did  ;  he  then  ordered  me  to  bring  him 
my  drawings.  But  I,  fearing  I  could  not  please  him,  if 
asked  to  draw  in  his  presence,  decided  on  injuring  my 
right  hand  and  thus  disable  it  for  use.  Loading  a  pistol,  I 
took  it  in  my  left  hand  and  fired  across  my  right  palm  ; 
though  the  bullet  did  not  touch  my  hand,  yet  the  powder 
badly  scorched  it.  The  bullet  embedded  itself  in  the  wall 
of  my  closet  where  it  has  remained  visible  even  unto  this 
day.  The  author  of  my  being,  noticing  my  burnt  hand, 
asked  how  it  happened.     I  gave  a  false  reason. 

Chapter  7,  Art.  63  of  the  miUtary  regulations  :  "  Who- 
ever makes  himself  ill  or  breaks  his  limbs  and  thus  unfits 
himself  for  service  is  liable  to  have  his  nostrils  torn,  and  be 
condemned  to  forced  labour." 


From  the  laws  of  Tsar  Alexis  Michailovitch,  Chapter  22, 
Art.  6  :  "  And  in  the  case  of  a  son  petitioning  against  his 
father,  no  judgment  shall  be  given  ;  but  he,  having  been 
flogged  for  such  petition,  shall  be  delivered  up  to  the 
father." 

This  is  unjust,  for  though  children  are  dependent  upon 
their  parents'  will,  yet  they  must  not  be  treated  like  dumb 
animals.  The  natural  law  is  not  fulfilled  by  the  procreation 
of  children  alone  ;  humaneness  forms  also  part  of  a  father's 
duty. 

I  hear  that  the  author  of  my  days  hates  houses  being 
built  in  Moscow,  for  it  is  his  will  to  live  in  Petersburg. 

It  lies  not  with  one  man  alone  to  change  national  cus- 
toms. The  country  which  changes  its  customs  cannot 
endure.  The  Russian  people  have  forgotten  the  water  in 
their  own  cisterns,  and  have  begun  to  slake  their  thirst  with 
the  turbid  waters  of  strangers. 


158  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Job,  the  Archimandrite  of  Novgorod,  told  me  :  "  Evil 
awaits  thee  in  Petersburg,  yet  I  feel  God  will  deliver  thee. 
Thou  wilt  see  what  will  happen." 

God  has  so  willed  it  with  us  sinners  that  foreigners 
do  with  us  just  as  it  pleases  them.  We  all  suffer  from 
a  mania.  This  fatal  illness  is  a  mad  passion  for  foreign 
things  and  people,  which  has  infected  our  whole  nation. 
Truly  says  the  prophet  Baruch  :  "  Let  a  stranger  come 
near  thee  and  he  will  destroy  thee."  The  Germans  boast 
and  have  a  saying, '  he  who  wants  to  eat  bread  without 
work,  let  him  go  to  Russia."  They  call  us  barbarians  and 
choose  to  reckon  us  among  the  beasts  instead  of  men.  They 
try  to  make  us  out  before  other  nations  as  worse  than 
dead  dogs.  It  would  be  as  well  to  stop  some  of  these 
foreign  antics;  they  don't  come  natural  to  us  and  we  only 
make  a  muddle  in  meddling  with  them.  The  foreign  way 
becomes  with  us  the  fool's  way.  We  degrade  ourselves, 
our  language,  our  nation;  and  w^e  expose  ourselves  to  the 
ridicule  of  every  one. 

The  intrusion  of  foreign  languages  has  spoilt  the  purity 
of  the  Slavonic  tongue.  I  know  not  what  need  we  have  to 
use  foreign  words.  It  must  be  only  to  make  a  boast  of, 
there  is  Httle  honour  in  doing  it.  Sometimes  they  speak  in 
a  way  that  neither  they  themselves  nor  others  can  under- 
stand. 

Sit  not  down  under  a  stranger's  hedgerow.  Rather 
among  nettles  if  they  are  thine  own.  A  stranger's  wit 
forsakes  thee  at  the  threshold.  Keep  thine  own  counsel  ; 
thine  own  counsellors.  Pleasant  is  the  sound  of  the 
tambours  beyond  the  hill  ;  but  when  brought  hither  they 
are  but  baskets  of  bast. 

Foreigners  are  far  be3^ond  us,  I  grant  you,  in  knowledge  ; 
yet  in  natural  quickness  of  wit  our  people  are,  thank  God, 
not  worse  equipped  than  they,  and  they  do  wrong  in  railing 
at  us.  I  am  persuaded  that  God  created  us  Russians  not 
inferior  to  other  human  beings. 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH     159 

I  doubt  whether  it  be  really  true  that  man's  welfare 
standeth  on  knowledge  or  the  sciences  alone.  For  folk 
used  to  learn  much  less  in  the  old  days,  and  were  happier 
than  we  to-day  with  our  much  learning.  It  is  possible  with 
much  culture  to  be  a  rascal.  I-earning  in  a  depraved 
heart  is  a  powerful  weapon  for  evil. 

***** 

We  Russians  can  do  without  bread.  We  devour  each 
other,  and  are  satisfied. 

*  *  *  *  *  . 

The  boyars  are  great  withered  trees  ;    their  massive  trunks 
hide  the  people  from  the  Tsar.     My  father  is  exceedingly 
intelligent ;   yet  Menshikoff  is  always  hoodwinking  him. 
***** 

All  administrators,  whether  young  or  old,  are  greedy  of 

gain.     The  ancient  laws  have  fallen  into  desuetude  :    the 

new  ones  also  count  for  nothing.     What  a  number  are 

decreed  !  and  to  what  purpose  ?    Nothing  is  really  changed. 

I  don't  see  that  much  good  will  come  of  these  reforms  in 

the   future. 

***** 

A    sovereign's  duties : 

Not  to  trust  in  one's  brilliancy  of  mind,  but  to  be  zealous 
to  protect  the  people,  the  land  and  the  villages,  and  to 
love,  be  zealous  for,  interested  in  the  lesser  brethren  of  Christ 
and  to  know  their  needs.  Severe  shall  'oe  His  judgment 
upon  the  great  and  mighty  ones !  The  little  shall  be  for- 
given, but  torment  awaits  the  mighty  ill-doers.  This  I 
should  do  well  to  remember,  should  God  grant  me  to  become 

Tsar. 

***** 

On  St.  Eustace  the  martyr's  day  we  held  high  fete  and 
got  grievously  drunk.  Our  faces  were  well  pummelled  ; 
Jibanda  had  a  blow  in  the  eye  the  Lasher  lost  a  tooth. 
I  don't  remember  anything,  and  I  hardly  know  how  I  got 
away.  I  was  exceedingly  filled  with  the  gifts  of  Bacchus. 
***** 

In  Roshdestveno  I  remained  at  home  alone.     The  days 
flowed  by  like  water  ;   nothing  save  utter  stillness. 
***** 


i6o  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Time  passes  and  brings  us  nearer  death  ;   the  end  of  our 
days  approaches  ;   I  recognise  the  frailty  of  my  hfe. 
I  await  death,  but  without  fear  or  desire. 


A  little  drunk. 

My  wife  is  pregnant. 

Eros,  Eros,  heathen  god  !  Passions  have  harassed  me 
from  my  youth  up.  I  accuse  others  of  godlessness.  and  am 
myself  the  most  godless  of  all.  Afrossinia  !  I  know  my 
iniquity  and  have  not  redeemed  myself  from  shame.  Thy 
hand  weighs  heavily  upon  me,  O  I-ord  !  When  shall  I 
come  and  appear  before  Gc^d  ?  my  tears  have  been  my  meat, 
day  and  night  ;  and  my  soul  fainteth  for  the  courts  of  the 
Lord. 

4:  ^  :):  3):  4c 

I  am  amazed  at  my  father.  Wh}^  does  he  love  Theodo- 
sius  ?  Is  it  because  the  latter  introduces  Lutheran  cus- 
toms among  the  people  and  authorises  everything  ?  He 
really  is  an  atheist,  and  a  deep  enemy  of  the  cross  of  the 
Lord. 

I  have  seldom  seen  so  subtle  a  rogue.  He  is  very  adroit, 
he  will  never  do  wrong  openly.  We  must  be  on  our  guard 
with  him  and  be  careful  and  stealthy  in  thwarting  him, 
since  we  are  obliged  to  live  under  his  orders. 

:|c  i|c  4c  4c  :tc 

The  zeal  of  thine  house  hath  eaten  me  up,  O  Lord.  I  am 
sore  afraid  and  troubled  lest  Christianity  perish  entirely  in 
Russia. 

Theodosius,  the  heresiarch,  and  his  crew  have  openly 
begun  to  wage  war  against  the  Church  ;  they  abolish  fasts, 
they  treat  confession  and  self-immolation  as  nonsense  ; 
they  ridicule  celibacy,  self-imposed  poverty,  and  change 
other  strait  and  narrow  ways  of  the  Christian  life  into  the 
smooth  broad  ways  which  lead  to  eternal  damnation. 
They  fearlessly  teach  a  debauched  self-indulgent  life ;  they 
recognise  no  sin,  everything  is  holy,  and  by  their  teaching 
they  have  brought  the  children  of  the  world  into  such 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    i6i 

fearless  voluptuousness,  that  many  take  up  the  mere  Epi- 
curean attitude  :  "  Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry.  There 
is  no  account  to  render  after  death." 

They  call  the  holy  icons  idols,  the  church  singing  bulls' 
roaring.  They  destroy  chapels,  and  where  the  walls  have 
remained,  they  allow  tobacco  and  barbers'  shops  to  be 
opened.  They  take  miracle-working  icons  away  on  stinking 
dung  carts  under  dirty  mats,  thus  insolently  defiling  them 
before  the  people.  In  this  way  they  attack  the  Orthodox 
faith,  under  the  pretext  that  it  is  not  Christianity,  but  only 
useless  and  harmful  superstitions  which  the}-  are  trying  to 
uproot.  What  a  number  of  clergy  have  been  destroyed, 
unfrocked  and  tortured  under  this  pretext  !  If  you  ask 
for  a  reason,  the  only  answer  you  get  is  :  they  were  super- 
stitious, bigots,  sanctimonious  humbugs  !  He  who  keeps 
fast  is  a  bigot ;  he  who  prays,  sanctimonious  ;  he  who 
adores  the  icons,  invariably  (they  say)  a  hypocrite. 

All  this  is  done  with  such  cunning,  and  the  intention  both 
to  exterminate  the  Orthodox  clergy  in  Russia,  and  to  intro- 
duce their  newly  invented  Lutheran  and  Calvinistic,  priest- 
less  sects. 

He  is  truly  mad  who  does  not  detect  in  them  the  atheistic 
spirit. 

The  church  bells  have  been  altered,  they  no  longer  chime, 
but  tinkle  as  if  sounding  an  alarm.  And  everything  else  is 
changed,  the  icons  are  painted,  not  on  wood  but  on  can- 
vas, after  foreign  models  ;  for  instance,  the  image  of 
Emmanuel  the  Saviour  is  quite  like  a  German,  fat,  as  if 
conceived  in  the  flesh  ;  the  fleshy  type  is  preferred,  the 
celestial  nature  is  ignored.  The  churches  are  no  longer 
built  after  the  ancient  style,  but  with  pointed  towers  Hke 
those  in  Germany,  and  the  chimes  even  imitate  Lutheran 
organs. 

Poor  Russia  !  \Miy  dost  thou  set  thy  heart  on  German 
ways  and  actions  ? 

*  *  *  *  * 

There  are  to  be  no  more  monasteries  ;  a  decree  is  being 
prepared  which  will  prohibit  the  taking  of  fresh  vows  ; 
retired  soldiers  will  fill  the  vacancies  in  the  monasteries. 


i62  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

It  is  written  "  He  who  comes  to  me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast 
out ;  "  but  they  consider  the  scriptures  as  nothing. 
*  *  *  *  * 

As  there  is  a  military  code,  so  now  there  exists  a  code  of 
faith. 

What  sort  of  prayer  can  that  be,  which  is  enforced  by  a 
decree,  under  pain  of  punishment  ? 

Beggars  are  to  taken  be  up,  ruthlessly  beaten  with  rods, 
and  sent  to  hard  labour,  so  that  they  may  not  eat  their 
bread  unearned.  This  is  the  Tsar's  decree,  while  Christ 
says,  "  For  I  was  an  hungered  and  ye  gave  me  no  meat. 
I  was  thirsty  and  ye  gave  me  no  drink,  I  was  a  stranger 
and  ye  took  me  not  in,  naked  and  ye  clothed  me  not. 
Verily  I  say  unto  you,  inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not  unto  one  of 
the  least  of  these,  ye  did  it  not  to  me." 

it:  *  *  *  * 

The  whole  of  Russia  is  dying  of  spiritual  famine.  The 
sower  does  not  scatter  the  seed,  the  earth  does  not  receive 
it.  The  priests  do  not  keep  watch  over  the  people  who  go 
astray.  The  village  priest  cannot  be  distinguished  from 
a  moujik.  The  moujik  ploughs,  the  priest  ploughs.  And 
meanwhile  Christians  die  like  cattle.  Drunken  priests  use 
obscene  language  and  rail  at  one  another  within  the  sanc- 
tuary ;  they  wear  a  pall  of  gold,  while  their  bast  shoes  are 
dirty  ;  the  holy  loaves  are  made  of  black  rye  flour  ;  the 
Lord's  holy  host  is  kept  in  exceedingly  vile  vessels  swarm- 
ing with  bugs,  cockroaches,  and  grassho|i]iers.  Monks 
have  fallen  into  habits  of  tippling  and  stealing. 

The  whole  monastic  and  priestly  system  calls  for  tho- 
rough reform,  as  there  hardly  remains  a  trace  of  the  true 
priest  and  monk. 

We  are  guilty  of  neither  keeping  our  religion,  such  as  it 
is,  nor  maintaining  our  clergy  in  decency,  but  of  living 
almost  like  brutes.  I  doubt  whether  in  Moscow  one  in  a 
hundred  knows  what  the  Orthodox  behef  is,  or  who  God 
is,  or  how  to  pray  to  Him,  or  how  to  fulfil  His  holy  will. 

There  is  no  sign  of  Christianity  left  to  us  except  the 
name. 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   163 

We  have  all  lost  our  senses,  we  tremble  in  our  faith, 
like  a  leaf  on  a  tree  ;  we  have  gone  astray  in  strange  and 
diverse  ways,  some  incline  towards  the  Roman  faith,  others 
towards  the  Lutheran  ;  we,  baptized  idol-worshippers,  are 
maimed  in  both  legs.  We  have  forsaken  the  paps  of  our 
mother  Church  ;  we  are  seeking  nourishment  instead  from 
all  kinds  of  foreign  and  heretical  sources.  We  are  like 
blind  puppies  which  have  been  thrown  away,  we  err  in  all 
directions  ;  but  where  we  shall  finally  arrive,  no  one  knows, 

:):  :):  :):  4=  ^ 

Fomka  the  barber,  an  iconoclast,  has  split  up  the  image 
of  St.  Alexis  the  Metropolitan  with  his  iron  axe,  because  he 
did  not  revere  the  holy  icons,  the  life- bringing  cross,  nor 
holy  relics  ;  the  holy  icons,  said  he,  and  the  holy  cross  are 
merely  the  work  of  man  ;  and  he  did  not  believe  that 
relics  brought  pardon  for  his  own  transgressions.  Neither 
did  he  accept  the  Church  dogma  and  traditions,  nor  did  he 
believe  the  Eucharist  to  be  the  true  body  of  Christ,  but 
simply  bread  and  wine. 

Stephen,  the  Metropolitan  of  Riazan,  handed  Fomka  over 
to  the  church  anathema.  He  was  burnt  at  the  stake  in  the 
Red  Square. 

Then  the  gentlemen  of  the  Senate,  having  summoned  the 
Metropohtan  to  Petersburg  to  account  for  his  action,  gave 
satisfaction  to  the  heretics  ;  the  iconoclast,  Dmitri  Tvere- 
tinoff,  a  physician,  whose  disciple  Fomka  had  been,  they 
pronounced  innocent,  while  driving  Stephen,  the  saintly 
bishop,  with  great  contumely  from  the  Judgment  hall. 
He  went  out  weeping  and  saying  : — 

"  O  Lord  Christ,  our  Saviour  !  Thou  hast  said  :  '  They 
will  persecute  you,  even  as  they  persecuted  me.'  Now  I 
am  driven  out,  but  not  L  it  is  Thou  whom  they  are  perse- 
cuting. Thou,  who  beholdest  all  things,  wilt  see  that  their 
judgment  is  unjust  ;    judge  them  Thyself  !  " 

And  when  the  prelate  came  out  of  the  senate  into  the 

square,  all  the  people  were  moved  with  compassion  towards 

him  and  wept.     The  anger  of  the  author  of  my  being 

against  Stephen  has  grown  more  intense. 

***** 

The  Church  is  more  powerful  than  the  Tsardom  ;  but 
nowadays  the  Tsar  rules  the  Church. 


i64  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The   ancient   Tsars   bowed   to   the   ground   before   the 

patriarch  ;    now  the  occupant  of  the    Patriarchal    throne 

signs   himself  in   his  letters   to  the  Tsar,   thus  :     "  Your 

Majesty's  slave  and  footstool,  your  humble  Stephen,  the 

little  Shepherd  of  Riazan  !  "     The  head  of  the  Church  the 

Tsar's  footstool  ! 

*  *  *  *  if 

Demetrius,  the  Metropolitan  of  Rostov,  was  a  very 
saintly  man  ;  when  the  author  of  my  being  made  him 
drink  Hungarian  wine,  and  began  questioning  him  on 
clerical  affairs,  the  saintly  old  man  did  not  answer  at  all, 
but  silently  and  repeatedly  blessed  the  Tsar  with  the  sign  of 
the  holy  cross,  and  thus  he  succeeded  in  escaping. 

The  priests  say,  "It  is  impossible  to  swim  against  the 
stream  ;   the  whip  cannot  break  the  axe." 

But  the  martyrs  for  the  sake  of  the  faith  did  not  spare 
their  lives  ! 

:):  9):  *  *  * 

'The  Tsar  keeps  his  table  for  the  bishops.     "  He  whose 
bread  I  eat,  his  man  I  am." 

*  *  *  *  * 

The  ancient  Russian  prelates  stood  up  for  their  country, 
but  the  prelates  of  to-day  do  not  seek  to  obtain  justice 
from  the  Tsar,  but  aim  rather  at  flattering  and  corrupting 
his  pious  rank  and  power. 

***** 

If  the  people  sin,  the  Tsar  can  divert  God's  wrath  ;  if  the 
Tsar  sins,  the  people  are  helpless.  God  visits  the  sin  of  the 
monarch  upon  the  whole  country. 

***** 

Tately  at  a  drinking  feast,  the  "  little  Shepherd  of 
Riazan  "  said  to  my  father  :  "  You  Tsars — gods  on  earth — 
are  like  unto  the  Heavenly  Tsar,"  and  the  Kniaz-Pope, 
a  drunken  fool,  reviled  the  prelate  :  "  Though  I,"  said  he, 
"  am  but  a  mock  patriarch,  yet  even  I  would  not  have 
spoken  such  words  to  the  Tsar  !  God  is  greater  than  the 
Tsar,"  and  the  Tsar  })raised  the  buffoon  for  saying  this. 
***** 

When  in  the  course  of  the  same  feast,  the  bishops  began 
to  talk  about  the  widowed  state  of  the  Church  and  the 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH   165 

need  of  a  Patriarch,  the  author  of  my  being  in  great  wrath 
unsheathed  his  short  sword ;  all  were  terror  stricken, 
thinking  he  was  going  to  kill  them  ;  he  struck  the  table 
with  the  fiat  of  the  blade,  and  shouted  :  "I  am  the 
Patriarch ;    Tsar    and  Patriarch  in  one  !  " 

Theodosius  is  trying  to  persuade  the  author  of  my 
being  to  assume  the  title  of  Emperor,  after  the  example 
of  the  ancient  Roman  Caesars. 

***** 

In  the  year  1709,  during  the  celebrations  of  the  Poltava 
victory,  the  clergy  erected  on  the  Red  Square  in  Moscow 
an  imitation  of  a  Roman  temple  with  an  altar,  consecrating 
it  to  the  virtues  of  the  Russian  god  Apollo  and  Mars,  that 
is  in  honour  of  the  author  of  m}'  being,  and  over  the  ancient 
temple  ran  the  inscription: — "Basis  et  fundamentum 
reipublicae,  religio." 

But  what  religion  ?     Faith  in  what  God,  or  gods  ? 

There  was  also  represented  an  "  Apotheosis  of  the 
Russian  Hercules,"  that  is,  the  author  of  my  days  slaying 
many  animals  and  peoples,  and,  at  the  end  of  these 
feats,  being  borne  up  to  heaven  in  Jove's  chariot,  drawn 
by  eagles  along  the  Milky  Way,  with  the  inscription  : — 
"  Viamque  affectat  Olympo." 

In  the  pamphlet,  wTitten  by  the  archmonk  Joseph, 
the  Prefect  of  the  Academy,  the  Apotheosis  is  described  in 
the  following  words  :  "  It  should  be  known  that  this  is 
neither  a  church,  nor  a  sanctuary  built  to  a  saint,  but  a 
political  or  civil  ceremony." 

Theodosius  is  trying  to  persuade  my  father  to  insert  in 

the  decree,   which   ordained   the  holy   Synod,   or  in   the 

Russian   oath   of  allegiance  itself,   words  declaring  that, 

"  The  people  should  honour  their  ruler's  name  as  head  and 

father  of  their  country  equally  with  the  name  of  Jesus 

Christ." 

***** 

Men  want  to  usurp  God's  glory  and  the  honour  due  to 
Christ,  the  Eternal  and  only  King  of  kings.  It  is  in  the 
Roman   Laws   that   these   impious  sacrilegious  words   are 


i66  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

found  :    "  The  Roman  autocrat  is  the  Lord  of  the  Uni- 
verse." 

***** 

We  confess  and  beheve  that  Christ  alone  is  the  King  of 
kings  and  the  Lord  of  lords,  and  there  is  no  man  Lord 
beside  him. 

Jesus  Christ,  the  wondrous  Rock,  struck  and  destroyed 
the  Roman  Empire  and  smashed  its  feet  of  clay.  And  we 
create  and  build  up  what  God  has  shattered.  Does  not 
this  mean  that  we  defy  God  ? 

Look  at  Roman  History.     The  Emperor  Caligula  saith  : 
Everything    is  allowed  to  Caesar,   "  Omnia  licent."      Not 
only  to  Roman   Emperors,  hut  nowadays  to  all  knaves  and 
servile  creatures  and  quadrupeds,  is  everything  permitted  ! 
***** 

Nebuchadnezzar  the  King  of  Babylon  saith,  "  I  am 
God,"  and  he  became  a  beast. 

***** 

On  Basil  Island,  in  the  house  of  the  Tsaritsa  Prascovie, 
there  lives  an  old  monk,  Timothy  Arkhipich,  he  is  the 
refuge  of  the  desperate,  the  hope  of  the  hopeless,  a  mad 
man  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  yet  he  is  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  griefs  and  hearts  of  men.  I  went  over  to  see  him 
a  few  nights  ago  and  had  a  talk  with  him.  Arkhipich 
says  Antichrist  is  a  pretender — a  veritable  cursed  one — 
and  that  he  is  on  his  way.  I  read  the  Metropolitan  of 
Riazan's  Signs  of  the  Coming  of  A  ntichrist,  and  a  great  fear 
thereupon  possessed  me. 

In  Moscow,  Gregory  of  Talitsa  was  burnt  because  he 
spoke  to  the  people  about  the  coming  of  Antichrist.  Talitsa 
was  a  man  of  great  intelligence.  Basil  Levin,  a  captain  of 
the  Dragoons  who  was  with  me  on  my  way  from  l.voff  to 
Kiev  in  171 1,  the  priest  Lebedka,  chaplain  to  Prince 
Menshikoff  the  clerk  Larion  Dokoukin,  and  many  others 
think  in  the  same  way  about  Antichrist. 

***** 

A  Raskolnik  spilt  Christ's  sacrament  and    trampled    it 

under  foot. 

***** 


PRIVATE  JOURNAL  OF  TSAREVITCH    167 

Near  Lubetch  a  flight  of  locusts  appeared  ;  from  midday 
to  midnight  it  was  passing — "  God's  Wrath,"  the  super- 
scription on  their  wings. 

***** 

The  days  are  short  and  gloomy  ;  old  people  say  the  sun 
shines  no  longer  as  it  used  to. 

I  was  drunk  ;  we  drank  a  large  quantity  of  vodka.  The 
Lord  knows  it  is  fear  which  makes  us  drink,  in  order  to 
forget  ourselves. 

The  fear  of  death  has  come  upon  me.     The  end  is  at 
hand,  the  axe  is  at  the  root,  death's  scythe  is  over  our  heads. 
***** 

Lord,  help  Russia  !  Thrice-pure  Mother  of  God  protect 
and  intercede  for  us  ! 

***** 

O  martvrs  of  these  latter  days,  Christ  is  about  to  rise 
again  !  Christ  is.  and  will  dwell  within  you,  and  you  will 
say,  Amen  !  to  His  Kingdom. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE   DIARY   OF   FRAULEIN   ARNHEIM 

WITH  these  words  the  diary  of  Tsarevitch    Alexis 
closed.     I  was  present  when  he  threw  it  into  the 
fire. 

December  31. 

To-day  died  the  last  Russian  Tsaritsa.  Marfa  Matveevna, 
the  widow  of  Peter's  step-brother,  Fedor  Alexeitch.  At 
foreign  courts  she  had  been  considered  dead  long  ago  ; 
ever  since  her  husband's  death,  during  thirty-two  years, 
she  had  lived  half  mad,  a  prisoner  in  her  rooms,  and  never 
showed  herself   to   anybody. 

She  was  buried  at  dusk  with  great  pomp.  The  funeral 
procession  moved  between  two  rows  of  torches  planted  in 
the  ice  all  the  way  along  from  her  house,  (she  lived  next  to 
us  near  the  Church  of  All  the  Sorrowing)  up  to  the  Peter 
and  Paul  Cathedral,  across  the  Neva  on  the  ice.  It  was 
the  same  way  along  which  her  Highness's  body  had  been 
borne  two  months  or  more  ago  in  the  frigate  of  death. 
Then  the  first  foreign  Princess  was  buried,  now  the  last 
Russian  Tsaritsa. 

First  came  the  clergy  in  gorgeous  palls,  carrying  candles 
and  incense  burners,  chanting  funeral  songs.  The  coffin 
was  drawn  on  sleighs.  Behind  it  walked  the  Privy  Coun- 
cillor Tolstoi  carrying  a  crown  set  with  priceless  gems. 

The  Tsar  had  for  the  first  time  at  this  funeral  prohibited 
the  ancient  Russian  custom  of  wailing  ;  it  was  strictly 
ordered  that  none  should  cr}'  aloud. 

All  moved  along  in  silence,  the  night  was  still,  nothing 
was  heard  but  the  crackling  of  the  burning  resin,  the 
crunching  of  steps  on  the  snow,  and  the  funeral  chanting. 


DIARY  OF  FRAULEIN  ARNHEIM         169 

This  silent  procession  aroused  a  shudder  of  terror.  It 
seemed  as  though  we  were  gHding  along  the  ice  after  the 
dead,  ourselves  also  dead,  into  the  black  eternal  gloom. 

With  this  old  Tsaritsa  New  Russia  seemed  to  be  burying 
Old  Russia,  and  Petersburg  burying  Moscow. 

The  Tsarevitch,  who  had  loved  the  deceased  as  his  own 
mother,  was  terribly  upset  by  this  death.  He  sees  in  it  a 
bad  omen  for  himself,  his  own  fate.  Several  times  during 
the  ceremony  he  whispered  to  me,  "  The  end  has  come,  the 
end   of   everything!" 

January  i. 

To-morrow  morning  I  leave  Petersburg,  together  with 
the  two  Barons  Loewenwold  for  Riga,  and  then  travel 
through  Danzig  into  Germany.  This  is  my  last  night  in 
the  Tsarevitch's  house. 

This  evening  I  went  to  bid  him  good-bj-e  ;  the  way  we 
parted  made  me  feel  how  much  I  love  him,  and  that  I  will 
never  forget  him. 

"  Who  knows,"  said  he,  "  we  may  meet  again.  I  would 
like  to  pay  another  visit  to  Germany  and  other  foreign 
countries  ;  I  liked  those  parts,  you  live  in  gaiety  and  light 
and  freedom." 

"  What  holds  your  Highness  back  ?  " 

He  sighed  heavily. 

"  I  would  like  to  go  to  heaven;  it  is  my  sins  which  keep 
me  back."  And  then  he  added  with  his  genuine  childlike 
smile,  "  The  Lord  keep  you,  Fraulein  JuHana,  do  not 
remember  my  worst ;  greet  the  European  countries  for  me, 
and  your  old  friend  Leibnitz.  May  be  he  will  prove  to  be 
in  the  right,  and  that  we  shall,  with  God's  help,  not  eat, 
but  serve  one  another." 

He  embraced  and  kissed  m}^  forehead  with  brotherly 
tenderness. 

I  could  not  help  crying.  Once  more  I  turned  round  and 
had  a  last  look  at  him,  and  again  my  heart  sank  with  a 
presentiment,  just  as  on  that  day  when  I  saw  in  the  dark, 
and  as  it  were  prophetic  mirror,  the  face  of  Charlotte  and 
Alexis,  when  both  had  seemed  to  me  to  be  victims  doomed 
to  some  great  suffering.  She  had  perished,  now  his  turn 
had  come.  And  then  I  recalled  him  as  he  stood  the  last 
day  in  Roshdestveno,  on  the  dove-cote,  high  up  over  the 


170  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

sullen  wood  against  the  blood-red  sky,  as  it  were  wrapt  in 
the  white  doves'  wings.  So  he  will  ever  remain  in  my 
memory. 

:);  :)c  :):  :):  :)i 

I  hear  that  prisoners  set  free  sometimes  regret  their 
prison.  I  experience  a  kindred  feeling  at  the  present 
moment  with  regard  to  Russia.  I  began  this  diary  with 
curses.  I  cannot  close  it  with  blessings.  I  will  only  say, 
what  probably  many  in  Europe  would  say,  were  they 
better  acquainted  with  Russia — "  A  mysterious  country — 
a  mysterious  people." 


Book  IV 

THE     FLOOD 

CHAPTER    I 

THE  Tsar  had  been  warned,  when  he  contemplated 
building  Petersburg,  that  the  site  was  not  suitable 
for  habitation,  on  account  of  the  floods  ;  twelv^e  years  pre- 
viously the  whole  country  up  to  Nienshantz  had  been  under 
water,  and  similar  disasters  recurred  about  every  five  years. 
The  original  inhabitants  of  the  Neva  Delta  did  not  erect 
permanent  houses,  but  only  small  huts.  Whenever  a  great 
flood,  by  one  sign  or  another,  seemed  to  be  threatened,  they 
were  taken  to  pieces,  the  logs  and  planks  were  tied  together 
in  a  raft  and  fastened  to  trees,  while  the  people  themselves 
sought  refuge  on  the  hill  Dooderhof.  But  to  Peter,  the  new 
city  seemed  a  "  Paradise  "  just  because  of  the  abundance 
of  water  which,  like  a  waterfowl,  he  loved ;  and  he  hoped 
that  in  this  place,  quicker  than  anywhere  else,  he  could 
accustom  his  subjects  to  a  sea- faring  life. 

At  the  end  of  October  1715,  the  Neva  began  to  freeze, 
snow  fell,  the  sleighs  were  brought  out  and  everybody  was 
expecting  an  early,  settled  winter.  But  quite  unexpectedly 
the  weather  changed  ;  it  became  warm  again.  In  one  night 
all  the  snow  and  ice  had  melted.  The  wind  brought  a  fog 
from  the  sea,  a  putrid,  yellow,  suffocating  mist,  which 
caused  much  sickness  among  the  people. 

"  I  pray  God  to  deliver  me  from  this  place  of  perdition," 
wrote  an  old  boyar  to  Moscow.  "  I  am  seriously  afraid  of 
falling  ill ;  since  the  thaw  began  we  have  been  enveloped 
in  such  a  balmy  scent  and  such  gloom,  that  it  is  impossible 


172  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

to  go  out.     Many  die  because  of  the  infectious  air  in  this 
'  Paradise.'  " 

The  south-west  wind  continued  to  blow  for  nine  days ; 
the  water  in  the  Neva  rose  ;  several  times  it  began  to  over- 
flow. Peter  issued  decrees  by  which  the  inhabitants  were 
bidden  to  empty  their  cellars  of  all  goods,  to  keep  boats  in 
readiness  and  to  drive  the  cattle  on  to  the  higher  ground. 

But  the  water  after  mounting,  receded  every  time.  The 
Tsar,  noticing  that  his  decrees  only  troubled  the  people, 
and  having  come  to  the  conclusion,  by  signs  known  only 
to  himself,  that  there  would  be  no  great  flood,  resolved  to 
trouble  himself  no  more  about  the  rise  of  the  water. 

The  first  fashionable  winter  "  Assembly  "  was  fixed  on 
November  6,  in  the  house  of  Fedor  Apraksin,  President  of 
the  Admiralty.  The  house  was  situated  on  the  quay 
opposite  to  the  Admiralty  buildings,  and  next  to  the  Winter 
Palace.  On  the  eve  of  the  Assembly  the  water  rose  again. 
People  of  experience  predicted  that  this  time  the  calamity 
could  not  be  escaped,  and  various  signs  were  quoted  in  sup- 
port of  this  belief ;  the  cockroaches  in  the  palace  had  begun 
to  creep  from  the  cellars  up  to  the  garret  ;  the  mice  had 
left  the  flour  stores  ;  the  Tsaritsa  had  dreamt  that  Peters- 
burg had  become  a  prey  to  the  flames,  and  fire  in  a  dream 
means  flood.  Not  quite  recovered  from  her  confinement, 
she  could  not  accompany  Peter  to  the  "  Assembly,  "  and 
entreated  him  to  stay  at  home. 

Peter  read  in  the  looks  of  all  that  ancient  dread  of  water, 
which  all  his  life  he  had  vainly  sought  to  overcome  :  "  the  sea 
brings  sadness  and  grief — where  water  is  there  is  grief  also — 
even  the  Tsar  cannot  appease  a  flood." 

He  was  warned  on  all  sides.  At  last  he  was  so  annoyed 
that  he  forbade  even  the  mentioning  of  a  flood.  He  all  but 
struck  the  Chief  Constable  Deviere  with  his  club.  An 
unknown  peasant  had  terrified  the  whole  town  by  predicting 
that  the  water  would  rise  above  the  high  elm  which  grew 
on  the  quay  near  the  Trinity  Church.  Peter  ordered  the 
elm  tree  to  be  felled  and  the  peasant  to  be  flogged  on  the  site  ; 
during  the  performance  a  drum  was  to  be  beaten  and  a  per- 
suasive exhortation  addressed  to  the  people. 

Before  the  "  Assembly  "  commenced,  Apraksin  came  to 
the  Tsar  asking  permission  to  have  it  in  the  house  itself,  and 


THE    FLOOD  173 

not  in  the  pavilion  generally  used  on  such  occasions,  which 
stood  out  in  the  courtyard  and  was  connected  with  the 
main  building  only  by  a  narrow  glazed  gallery/,  far  from 
safe  in  case  of  a  sudden  rise  of  water,  when  the  guests 
might  easily  be  cut  off  from  the  staircase  which  led  out  to  the 
upper  rooms.  Peter  thought  it  over,  yet  decided  to  have 
his  own  way,  arid  ordered  the  "  Assembly  "  to  be  held  in 
its  usual  quarter,  the  pavilion. 

"  An  Assembly,"  the  decree  explained,  "  is  a  free  gather- 
ing not  only  for  pleasure  but  for  work, 

"  The  host  is  neither  obliged  to  receive  his  guests  nor  to  see 
them  to  the  door  when  they  depart,  nor  is  he  expected  to 
press  them  to  eat. 

"  At  the  '  Assembly  '  people  are  free  to  sit,  walk  about, 
or  join  in  the  games  and  no  one  has  a  right  to  interfere,  or 
check  another's  actions  ;  ceremonies,  such  as  rising  up  to 
greet,  conducting  to  the  door,  are  forbidden  under  penalty 
of  the  fine  of  the  '  Great  Eagle. '  " 

Both  the  supper-room  and  the  room  for  dancing  were 
spacious,  but  with  exceedingly  low  ceilings  ;  the  walls  of 
the  former  were  covered  with  blue  tiles,  after  the  style  of 
Dutch  kitchens,  pewter  dishes  were  ranged  along  the  shelves, 
the  brick  floor  was  strewn  with  sand,  the  large  tiled  stove 
was  overheated.  One  of  the  three  long  tables  was  spread 
with  cojd  savoury  dishes,  Peter's  favourite  oysters,  pickled 
sprats,  lemons  ;  on  another  table,  chess  and  draught 
boards  were  laid  ;  on  a  third  packets  of  tobacco,  baskets 
with  clay  pipes  and  piles  of  wooden  splinters  for  pipe- 
lighters. 

Tallow  candles  were  faintly  glimmering  through  the 
clouds  of  smoke.  The  low  room,  packed  with  people,  re- 
minded one  of  a  skipper's  saloon  in  Plymouth  or  Rotterdam. 
The  similarity  was  accentuated  by  a  number  of  English 
and  Dutch  ship  captains.  Their  wives,  fat,  smooth,  glossy, 
with  red  cheeks,  their  feet  tucked  in  fur  warmers,  knitted 
stockings,  chatted  and  evidently  felt  quite  at  home. 

Peter,  smoking  a  short  clay  pipe,  sipping  mulled  ale 
mixed  with  cognac,  sugar  and  lemon  juice,  was  playing 
chess  with  the  Archimandrite  Theodosius. 

Anton  Deviere,  the  Chief  Constable,  timidly  approached 
the  Tsar  Hke  a  guilty  dog.     It  was  difficult  to  decide  whether 


174  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

he  was  a  Jew  or  a  Portuguese ;  his  feminine  face  expressed 
that  combination  of  sweetness  and  weakness  found  some- 
times amongst  southern  faces. 

"  Your  Majesty,  the  water  is  rising." 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  Two  feet  nine  inches." 

"  And  the  wind  ?  " 

"  West  south-west." 

"  Nonsense..  I  myself  have  just  registered  it,  South-west 
south." 

"  It  has  changed,"  rephed  Deviere  apologetically,  as  if  he 
were  responsible  for  the  direction  of  the  wind. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Peter  decidedly,  "  the  water  will 
soon  fall.  The  barometer  points  to  fair;  it  won't  deceive, 
never  fear." 

He  believed  in  the  infallibiUty  of  the  barometer  as  he  did 
in  that  of  mechanics  in  general. 

"  Your  Majesty,  is  there  no  order  ?  "  Deviere  asked 
plaintively.  "  Otherwise  I  really  don't  know  what  to  do. 
People  are  getting  exceedingly  frightened.  Intelligent 
experts  say " 

The  Tsar  closely  eyed  him. 

"  One  of  these  intelligent  experts  I  have  had  flogged 
near  Trinity  Church  ;  and  you  too  won't  escape,  unless  you 
give  up  talking  nonsense.     Go,  fool  !  " 

Deviere,  shrinking  yet  more,  like  the  affectionate  dog, 
Lizette,  at  the  sight  of  a  stick,  instantly  disappeared. 

"  What  is  your  opinion  about  this  extraordinary  ringing, 
Father  ?  "  Peter  turned  to  Theodosius,  continuing  their 
conversation  about  the  Novgorod  church  bells  which, 
according  to  recent  information,  were  tolling  miraculously 
at  night  :  the  rumour  spread  that  this  was  a  foreboding 
of  great  calamities. 

Theodosius  stroked  his  thin  beard,  played  with  the 
double-faced  panagia,  adorned  with  the  crucifix  and  the 
Tsar's  portrait,  cast  a  side  glance  at  the  Tsarevitch  Alexis, 
who  was  sitting  next  to  them,  blinked  with  one  eye  as  if 
taking  aim,  and  suddenly  his  diminutive  face,  like  the  snout 
of  a  bat,  lit  up  with  rarest  subtlety  : — 

"  Anybody  can  understand  the  meaning  of  this  speech- 
less droning.     It  obviously  comes  from  the  fiend  ;    Satan 


THE    FLOOD  175 

is  sobbing  because  his  reign  over  the  Russian  people  is 
coming  to  an  end  ;  he  is  cast  out  from  the  possessed,  the 
Raskolniks,  the  monks,  the  old  hypocrites,  whom  your 
Majesty  has  taken  great  pains  to  cure." 

And  Theodosius  led  the  conversation  to  his  favourite 
topic,  the  uselessness  of  the  monks. 

"  Monks  are  parasites.  They  escape  taxation  in  order  to 
eat  the  bread  of  idleness.  What  gain  are  they  to  society  ? 
They  count  their  civil  position  for  nothing,  describing  it 
as  part  of  the  vanities  of  the  world.  They  have  a  saying 
to  this  effect  : — '  He  who  becomes  a  monk  no  longer  works 
for  the  Tsar  of  earth,  but  for  the  Tsar  of  heaven.  They 
lead  an  animal  hfe  in  the  deserts,  They  seem  incapable 
of  realizing  that  the  Russian  climate  makes  a  real  hermit 
life   impossible." 

Alexis  understood  that  this  talk  about  hypocrites  was 
aimed  at  him. 

He  rose.  Peter  looked  at  him  and  said,  "  Stay  where 
you  are !  " 

The  Tsarevitch  submissively  returned  to  his  seat,  casting 
down  his  eyes,  as  he  felt,  with  the  air  of  a  hypocrite. 

Theodosius  was  in  his  best  vein.  Stimulated  by  the  atten- 
tion of  the  Tsar,  who  had  brought  out  his  notebook  and  was 
taking  notes  for  future  decrees,  he  suggested  measure  after 
measure,  ostensibly  for  the  reform,  but  to  Alexis  it  seemed 
for  the  destruction,  of  monasticism  in  Russia. 

"  Establish  in  the  monasteries  regulation  hospitals  for 
discharged  dragoons,  also  schools  for  arithmetic,  geometry  ; 
in  the  convents  foundling  institutions  for  illegitimate 
children  ;  the  nuns  should  be  employed  in  weaving." 

The  Tsarevitch  did  his  best  not  to  hear  ;  yet  stray  words 
would  reach  him  like  authoritative  com^mands. 

"  The  sale  of  mead  and  oil  in  churches  must  be  finally 
forbidden,  the  burning  of  tapers  before  icons  placed 
outside  the  churches  must  be  stopped.  Chapels  must  be 
closed  up  ;  no  new  relics  to  be  announced.  Mendicants  to  be 
taken  into  custody  and  relentlessly  beaten  with  rods  ;  no 
miracles  to  be  invented." 

The  wind  rattled  at  the  window  shutters  ;  a  draught 
passed  through  the  room,  and  the  candles  flickered.  A  count- 
less host  of  enemies  seemed  to  be  besieging  and  breaking 


176  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

into  the  house  ;  and  in  the  words  of  Theodosius,  Alexis 
felt  the  same  inimical  force. 

It  was  the  attack  of  a  storm  from  the  west. 

The  walls  of  the  dancing-room  were  hung  with  woven 
tapestry  and  pier  glasses  ;  chandeliers  with  wax  candles 
supplied  the  light.  Musicians  with  deafening  wind  in- 
struments were  placed  on  a  small  platform.  The  ceiling, 
with  its  allegorical  representation  of  "  A  journey  to  the  Isle 
of  Love,"  was  so  low  that  the  naked  Cupids  with  their  fat 
calves  and  legs  were  almost  brushed  by  the  wigs  of  the 
dancers. 

The  ladies  in  the  intervals  between  the  dances  sat  as  if 
dumb  ;  they  seemed  dull  and  stupefied  ;  in  dancing,  they 
hopped  round  like  wax  figures  ;  they  answered  all  questions 
in  monosyllables,  and  were  quite  scared  by  compliments. 
Daughters  seemed  tied  to  their  mother's  skirts  ;  while  the 
mother's  faces  clearly  expressed  :  we  would  rather  our 
daughters  were  drowned  than  here. 

William  Mons  was  repeating  a  compliment,  culled  from 
a  German  book  of  savoir-faire,  to  that  same  Nastenka, 
who  was  in  love  with  a  naval  officer  and  had  been  crying 
over  a  tender  missive  at  the  \'enus  Festival  in  the 
Summer  Garden. 

"  Through  repeatedly  meeting  you,  fair  angel,  such  a  desire 
to  know  you  better  has  arisen  within  me,  that,  unable  to 
conceal  it  any  longer,  I  am  compelled  to  lay  it  deferentially 
before  you.  I  heartily  wish  that  you,  my  lady,  might 
have  found  in  me  a  person  whose  habits  and  agreeable 
conversation  could  satisfy  you ;  a  person  whose  behaviour 
and  conversation  might  not  displease  you ;  but  since  nature 
has  given  me  no  advantages,  deign  to  accept  instead  my 
devoted  faithfulness    and    service  !  " 

Nastenka  was  not  listening.  The  bu''z  of  mionotonously 
sounding  words  had  made  her  sleepy  ;  later  on,  she  com- 
plained to  her  aunt,  that  though  her  partner  seemed  to 
speak  Russian,  yet  with  the  best  intention  she  could  not 
make  out  a  single  word. 

The  Secretary  to  the  French  Ambassador,  George  Pros- 
courov,  son  of  a  Moscow  clerk,  who  had  lived  for  some  time 
in  Paris,  and  had  become  there  a  "Monsieur  George,"  a 
perfect  "  petit  maitre  "  and  "  galant  homme,"  was  singing 


THE    FLOOD  177 

to  the  ladies  a  modem  ditty  about  the  coiffeur  Prison,  and 
the  street-girl,  Dodun  : 

La  Dodun  dit  a  Prison : 
Coiffez-moi  avec  adresse. 
Je  pretends  avec  raison 
Inspirer  de  la  tendresse. 
Tignonnez,  tignonnez,  bichonnez-moi  ! 

He  also  recited  a  Russian  poem  on  the  charms  of  life  in 
Paris. 

O  beautiful  city  on  flowing  Seine 

The  gods  have  chosen  thy  fair  domain. 

The  manners  of  boors  are  driven  out  hence 

By  thy  most  exquisite  influence, 

And  never  shall  I  in  my  soul  forget 

The  town  that  I  leave  with  such  deep  regret ! 

The  old  Moscow  boyars,  hostile  to  the  new  customs,  sat  a 
little  way  off,  warming  themselves  near  the  stove,  holding 
converse  with  one  another  in  allusions  and  riddles. 

"  What  do  you  think,  my  lord,  of  life  in  Petersburg,  eh  ?  " 

"  To  the  devil  with  you  and  your  Petersburg  hfe  !  These 
comxpliments  and  reverences  and  obeisances  of  the  woman- 
folk,  and  the  foreign  food,  make  one's  head  go  round!  " 

"  What's  to  be  done,  friend,  but  bear  it  ?  One  cannot 
leap  into  heaven,  nor  bury  oneself  in  the  earth.  Patience, 
patience  ! " 

Mons  was  whispering  into  Nastenka's  ears  a  newly  com- 
posed ditty  : 

Without  love  and  passion. 
All  days  are  dreary. 
Love  sighs  acquaint  us 
With  all  life's  sweetness. 
What,  say,   is  life  for, 
If  one  loves  not  ? 

Suddenly,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  ceiling  was  shaking 
and  that  the  naked  Cupids  were  falling  upon  her  head.  She 
cried  out ;  William  Mons  reassured  her  ;  it  was  only  the 
wind  bulging  out  like  a  sail  the  canvas  of  the  picture 
nailed   to   the   ceiling. 

M 


178  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Again  the  shutters  rattled,  this  time  with  such  force  that 
everybody  looked  round  in  terror. 

The  polonaise  began  ;  the  couples  set  out  and  music 
drowned  the  noise  of  the  storm.  Only  the  shivering  old 
nobles,  warming  themselves  round  the  stove,  listened  to  the 
howling  of  the  wind  in  the  chimney,  and  whispered  to  one 
another,  sighing  and  shaking  their  heads.  They  seemed  to 
hear  in  the  sounds  of  the  storm,  rendered  more  ill-omened 
still  by  the  music,  the  old  words  :  "  out  of  the  sea  sorrow, 
out  of  the  water,  grief !  " 

Peter  continued  his  conversation  with  Theodosius  ;  he 
asked  him  about  the  heresy  of  the  Moscow  iconoclasts, 
Fomka  the  barber  and  Dmitri  the  physician.  Both 
heretics,  in  propagating  their  teaching,  had  referred  to  the 
Tsar's  recent  decrees  :  "  Thanks  be  to  God,  nowadays  in 
Moscovy  everybody  is  free  to  follow  what  faith  he  chooses." 

"  According  to  their  teaching,"  continued  Theodosius, 
with  a  smile  which  made  it  impossible  to  infer  whether  he 
disagreed  or  sympathised  with  the  heresy,  "  the  true 
faith  is  founded  on  the  Scriptures  and  good  works,  and  not 
on  miracles  and  traditions. 

"  People  of  any  creed  can  be  savevd  according  to  the 
apostle's  word  :  '  In  every  nation  he  that  fearethGod,  and 
worketh  righteousness,  is  accepted  with  Him." 

"  Very  reasonable,"  remarked  Peter  and  the  monk's 
smile  seemed  to  be  reflected  on  the  Tsar's  face  ;  they  under- 
stood one  another  without  words. 

"  And  the  icons,"  continued  Theodosius,  "  being  but 
man's  work,  according  to  their  teaching  are  idols.  How 
can  painted  boards  work  miracles  ?  You  throw  them 
into  the  fire,  they  burn  just  like  ordinary  wood.  It  is 
not  the  icons  but  God,  who  should  be  worshipped.  And  who 
gave  the  saints  ears  so  long  as  to  enable  them  to  hear 
the  prayers  said  on  earth  ?  If,  say  they,  a  son  is  slain  by 
a  stick  or  a  knife,  how  can  the  slain  man's  father  love  that 
knife  or  stick  ?  In  the  same  way  how  can  God  love  the 
wood  on  which  His  Son  had  been  crucified  ?  And  the 
Virgin,  they  ask,  why  should  she  be  honoured  ?  She  is 
like  a  plain  bag  filled  with  precious  stones  and  pearls. 
When  the  bag  is  emptied  of  its  treasure  what  value  or 
honour  remain  to  it  ?     About  the  Eucharist,  too,  they  use 


THE    FLOOD  179 

sophisms  :  how  can  Christ  be  broken  up,  distributed  and 
eaten  at  the  services  of  which  such  numbers  are  held  all 
over  the  world  on  the  same  day  ?  How  can  the  prayers  of 
priests  change  bread  into  our  Lord's  body,  especially  as 
there  are  all  sorts  of  men  among  priests  :  drunkards, 
sybarites  and  veritable  scoundrels.  This  is  highly  improb- 
able and  we  very  much  doubt  it.  The  bread  smells  bread 
to  us,  and  the  blood,  so  far  as  our  senses  can  ascertain,  is 
but  red  wine." 

"It  is  not  right  for  us  Orthodox  even  to  listen  to  such 
heresy,"  the  Tsar  checked  Theodosius. 

The  latter  stopped  short,  yet  his  smile  seemed  to  grow 
only  more  insolent  and  more  malignant. 

The  Tsarevitch  raised  his  eyes  and  furtively  glanced  at 
his  father.  He  seemed  to  notice  confusion  in  Peter's  look. 
The  Tsar  no  longer  smiled  ;  his  face  had  grown  serious, 
almost  wrathful,  5-et  at  the  same  time  helpless  and  per- 
plexed. Had  he  not  a  moment  ago  recognized  the  basis 
of  heresy  as  being  reasonable  ?  Accepting  the  basis  how 
can  he  regret  the  inferences  ?  It  is  easy  to  forbid,  but  how 
refute  r*  The  Tsar  is  clever,  yet  is  not  his  cleverness  ex- 
ceeded by  that  of  the  monk  ;  was  not  the  latter  leading 
the  Tsar,  as  an  evil  guide  leads  a  blind  man,  straight  to- 
wards a  precipice  ? 

Thus  thought  Alexis  ;  and  the  subtle  smile  of  Theodosius 
found  reflection  no  longer  on  the  father's  but  on  the  son's 
face.     Now  they  too  understood  one  another  without  words. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  wondered  at  in  Fomka  and 
Dmitri,"  said  Avramoff,  breaking  the  awkward  silence. 

"  '  The  music  sways  the  dance.'  The  sheep  do  but 
follow  the  shepherd."  He  steadily  eyed  Theodosius  ;  the 
same  took  the  hint  and  quivered  with  rage. 

At  this  moment  some  immeasurable  force  hurled  itself 
against  the  shutters,  as  if  a  thousand  fists  were  beating  at 
them.  This  something  hissed,  howled,  wailed,  and  then  died 
slowly  away  in  the  distance.  Then  the  assaiLints  seemed  to 
return  more  and  more  formidably  to  the  attack,  and  to  be 
breaking  into  the  house. 

Deviere  ran  out  every  ten  minutes  to  learn  about  the  rise 
of  the  water.  The  news  was  bad,  the  Mia  and  Fontanna 
were  already  in  flood.     The  town  was  panic-stricken. 


i8o  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Deviere  lost  his  head  ;  several  times  he  approached  the 
Tsar,  trying  to  catch  his  eye  and  attract  his  notice,  but 
Peter,  engrossed  in  conversation,  did  not  pay  any  attention 
to  him.  At  last,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  himself,  with 
desperate  resolution  he  stooped  and  stuttered  in  the  Tsar's 
ear : — 

"  Your  Majesty  ! — the  water  !  " 

Peter  without  a  word  of  warning,  with  a  quick,  almost 
involuntary  movement,  gave  him  a  slap  in  the  face.  Deviere 
felt  neither  shame  nor  insult,  nothing  except  the  pain, 
so  used  was  he  to  such  treatment. 

"  It  is  a  privilege,"  said  Peter's  eaglets  "  to  be  struck  by 
a  monarch  whose  blows  are  favours." 

Peter  with  a  calm  countenance,  as  though  nothing  what- 
ever had  happened,  turned  to  Avramoff  and  asked  him  the 
reason  why  the  publication  of  the  astronomer  Huyghen's 
work,  Contemplation  or  Description  of  Heavenly  and 
Earthly  Bodies,  had  been  delayed  so  long. 

For  a  moment  Avramoff  was  taken  aback,  but  he  in- 
stantly recovered  and  looking  straight  into  the  Tsar's  eyes 
he  said  with  firmness  : — 

"  That  book  is  exceedingly  blasphemous  ;  it  has  been 
written,  not  with  ink  but  with  helhsh  charcoal,  and  there- 
fore it  is  only  fit  to  be  burnt." 

"  What  does  the  blasphemy  consist  of  ?  " 

"  The  rotation  of  the  earth  round  the  sun  is  asserted,  as 
well  as  the  existence  of  a  plurality  of  worlds,  and  all  those 
worlds  are  supposed  to  be  like  ours,  with  human  beings, 
meadows,  fields,  woods,  animals,  and  everj^thing  else  just 
as  we  have  it.  And  in  this  sly  and  subtle  way  the  author 
tries  to  glorif}^  and  establish  Nature  (which  means  self- 
existent  life),  while  a  God-Creator  is  dispensed  with." 

A  discussion  began  :  the  Tsar  began  proving  that  Coper- 
nicus' Chart  of  the  universe  explained  in  a  natural  and 
suitable  way  all  the  life  of  the  planets. 

Under  the  protection  of  the  Tsar  and  Copernicus  more 
and  more  daring  thoughts  were  expressed. 

"  To-day  all  philosophy  can  be  reduced  to  mechanics," 
suddenly  declared  the  naval  councillor,  Alexander  Kikin. 
"  The  universe  is  believed  to  be  a  clock  on  a  large  scale  ; 
everything  acts  in  it  by  fixed  motions,  which  depend  on  a 


THE    FLOOD  i8i 

perfect  arrangement  of  the  automaton.  The  same  mechan- 
ism pervades  the  whole " 

"  A  senseless  atheistical  philosophy,  a  corrupt  and  un- 
stable basis  of  reasoning,"  exclaimed  the  terrified  Avra- 
moff ;  but  nobody  listened  to  him. 

Each  tried  to  outdo  the  other  in  learning. 

"  The  ancient  philosopher  Dicaearcbus  taught  that  man's 
being  is  in  his  body,  and  that  the  word  '  soul '  is  only  an 
accidental  meaningless  term,"  added  the  vice-chancellor 
Shafiroff. 

"  The  microscope  has  revealed  in  man's  seed  animals 
very  much  like  frogs  or  tadpoles,"  said  Monsieur  George 
with  such  a  mischievous  smile,  that  it  was  obvious  he  meant 
to  say  there  cannot  be  such  a  thing  as  a  soul.  After  the 
manner  of  all  Parisian  dandies,  he  had  his  own  "  Petite 
Philosophic, "  in  expounding  which  he  displayed  the  same 
polite  frivolity  as  when  singing  the  coiffeur's  song  :  '  Tignon- 
nez,  tignonnez,  bichonnez  moi.' 

"  According  to  Leibnitz  we  are  but  thinking  hydraulic 
machines  :  the  oyster  is  far  behind  us  in  reasoning  capacity." 

"  Not  far  behind  you,"  somebody  remarked  ;  but  Mon- 
sieur George  continued  imperturbably  : 

"  The  oyster  is  far  behind  us  in  reasoning  capacity.  Its 
life  is,  so  to  speak,  limited  to  its  shell,  and  hence  it  stands 
in  no  need  of  the  five  senses.  It  is  possible  that  creatures 
in  other  worlds  possessing  ten  or  more  senses  are  infinitely 
superior  to  us  ;  that  Newton  and  Leibnitz  excite  no  more 
wonder  among  them  than  the  ape  or  spider  among  us." 

The  Tsarevitch  was  hstening,  and  it  seemed  to  him,  that 
this  conversation  acted  on  his  ideas,  just  as  the  Peters- 
burg thaw  on  the  snow  in  spring  ;  everything  was  unravel- 
ing, drifting,  melting,  growing  rotten  ;  everything  was 
changing  into  mud  and  mire  under  the  influence  of  the  bale- 
ful western  wind.  Doubt  in  all  things,  negation  of  all 
things,  without  regard,  without  reservation,  rose  like  the 
Neva,  which,  swollen  by  the  wind,  was  threatening  an  inun- 
dation. 

"  Enough  of  this  idle  talk,"  concluded  Peter  rising. 
"  He  who  denies  God  is  either  mad  or  a  fool.  He,  who  has 
eyes,  ought  to  discern  God  in  His  creations.  Deniers  of 
God  bring  shame  to  the  country  and  must  not  be  tolerated. 


i82  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

for  they  undermine  the  basis  of  law  upon  which  rest  vows 
and  the  oath  of  allegiance." 

"  The  cause  of  lawlessness,"  interposed  Theodosius, 
unwilling  to  miss  an  opportunity,  "  is  rather  to  be  sought 
in  hypocritical  zeal  than  in  atheism  ;  atheists  themselves 
insist  that  God  should  be  taught  to  the  masses,  else,  say 
they,  the  people  will  revolt  against  authority." 

The  whole  building  was  now  continuously  shaking  under 
the  pressure  of  the  storm.  Yet  nobody  noticed  the  sounds, 
they  had  grown  used  to  them  ;  the  Tsar's  face  was  calm, 
and  his  appearance  reassured  the  others. 

Somebody  spread  the  report  that  the  wind  had  changed 
round,  and  that  there  was  hope  that  the  waters  would  abate. 

"  You  see,"  said  Peter,  and  his  face  grew  bright,  "  there 
was  no  reason  to  get  frightened.  Never  fear,  the  barometer 
will  not  he  !  " 

He  went  into  the  next  room  and  joined  the  dancers. 

When  the  Tsar  was  merry,  he  infected  every  one  else  with 
his  merriment.  In  dancing  he  stamped,  jumped  and  per- 
formed various  feats  with  such  enthusiasm  that  the  most 
indolent  were  eager  to  join  in. 

In  the  English  country  dance  the  lady  of  each  first  pair 
invented  a  new  figure.  The  Princess  Tsherkasski  kissed 
her  partner  Peter  Tolstoi  and  pulled  his  wig  over  his  nose, 
the  rest  of  the  ladies  did  likewise,  while  the  gentlemen  had 
to  stand  motionless  as  logs.  A  general  scramble,  laughing, 
all  sorts  of  nonsense  ensued,  all  were  merry  as  school  chil- 
dren and  Peter  was  the  merriest  of  all. 

Only  the  old  princes  continued  to  sit  in  their  corner 
listening  to  the  howling  of  the  wind.  They  whispered, 
sighed,  and  shook  their  heads. 

One  of  them  remembered  a  passage  in  the  Holy  Fathers 
against  dancing  ;  "  The  twirling  dances  of  women  alienate 
people  from  God  and  hurl  them  into  the  depths  of  Hell. 
Laughter  will  be  turned  into  mourning  ;  dancers  will  be 
hung  up  by  their  navels." 

The  Tsar  came  up  to  the  old  men  and  invited  them  to 
join  the  dance.  Vain  were  their  refusals,  the  plea  of  their 
inability  and  of  various  ailments,  rheumatism,  asthma,  gout ; 
the  Tsar  would  take  no  excuse. 

A  solemn,  quaint "  Grossvater  "  was  played  ;  the  spright- 


THE    FLOOD  183 

liest  young  ladies  were  purposely  chosen  as  partners  for  the 
old  men,  who  at  first  hardly  moved,  stumbled,  and  muddled 
both  themselves  and  others  ;  yet  when  the  Tsar  threatened 
them  with  a  glass  of  that  terrible  pepper  brandy,they  jumped 
about  as  hvely  as  the  younger  ones  ;  they  paid  for  it,  how- 
ever, at  the  end  of  the  dance,  when  they  fell  back  on  their 
seats  half  dead  with  fatigue,  groaning,  puffing,  and  sigh- 
ing. 

They  had  hardly  time  to  recover  when  the  Tsar  began  a 
new  dance  more  intricate  even  than  the  first,  known  as  the 
"  Chain  dance  ;  "  thirty  pairs,  all  tied  together  with  hand- 
chiefs  followed  a  fiddler,  a  small  hunchback  who  went 
skipping  along  in  front  of  them. 

The  dancers  first  went  round  the  two  rooms  of  the  wing, 
then  across  the  gallery  they  entered  the  main  building  ;  all 
over  the  house,  from  room  to  room,  from  staircase  to  stair- 
case the  saraband  swept  along,  shrieking  and  laughing. 
The  hunchback  led  the  way,  fiddling  and  leaping  frantically, 
making  faces  as  though  some  evil  spirit  possessed  him.  He 
was  followed  by  the  Tsar  and  his  partner,  the  rest  following 
after  ;  as  though  the  Tsar  were  leading  the  captives  while 
he  himself,  the  giant,  was  led  and  twirled  along  by  the 
caprices  of  the  little  demon. 

On  their  way  back  to  the  pavilion  they  saw  people  running 
towards  them  across  the  gallery  waving  their  hands  in 
terror  and  crying  : — 

"  The  water,  the  water,  the  water  !  " 

The  couples  in  front  stopped  short,  but  they  were  crushed 
by  those  running  up  from  behind  ;  a  general  confusion 
ensued. 

They  were  hurled  against  one  another,  knocked  down, 
dragging  and  tearing  at  the  handkerchiefs,  which  bound 
them  to  one  another,  to  undo  them.  The  men  swore,  the 
ladies  screamed  ;  the  chain  was  broken.  A  larger  number 
headed  by  the  Tsar  hurried  back  through  the  gallery  into 
the  main  building.  A  smaller  number,  those  who  were  in 
front  and  in  consequence  nearer  the  wing,  tried  to  follow, 
but  before  they  had  time  to  reach  even  the  middle  of  the 
gallery,  the  shutter  at  one  of  the  windows  cracked,  quivered 
and  fell,  sending  the  window  pane  in  shivers  ;  a  stream  of 
turbulent  water  rushed  in  after  it.     At  the  same  time  im- 


i84  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

prisoned  air  in  the  cellar  below  pressing  against  the  floor 
began  raising  and  bulging,  and  finally  burst  the  floor  up  with 
a  crash  and  rumble  like  the  firing  of  cannon. 

Peter  called  out  from  the  other  end  of  the  gallery  to  those 
who  were  cut  off  : — 

"  Go  back  to  the  pavilion  !  Don't  be  afraid,  I  will  send 
boats." 

The  words  did  not  reach  them,  yet  they  understood  his 
signs,  and  stood  still. 

Only  two  went  on  running  along  the  flooded  floor  of  the 
corridor.  Theodosius  was  one  of  them.  He  had  nearly 
reached  the  end  where  Peter  stood  waiting  for  him,  when 
suddenly  a  plank  gave  way.  Theodosius  the  monk  fell 
through  and  began  to  sink.  The  other,  a  fat  woman,  the 
wife  of  a  Dutch  captain,  picking  up  her  skirts  jumped  over 
the  monk's  head,  red  stockings  flashed  above  his  black  hood. 
The  Tsar  hurried  to  the  rescue  of  Theodosius,  seized  him  by 
the  shoulder,  pulled  him  out  and  carried  him  in  his  arms 
like  a  little  child.  Theodosius  was  shivering  and  dripping  all 
over.  The  wide  black  sleeves  of  his  mantle  running  with 
water  made  him  look  Hke  a  wet  bat.  The  hunchback 
fiddler  too,  on  reaching  the  middle  of  the  gallery,  had  dis- 
appeared in  the  water  ;  he  came  to  the  surface  again,  tried 
to  swim,  but  at  that  moment  the  middle  of  the  ceiling  gave 
way,  came  down  with  a  crash,  and  buried  him. 

Then  the  few  who  were  left,  numbering  about  ten,  seeing 
they  were  entirely  cut  off  by  water  from  the  main  building, 
hurried  back  into  the  wing,  their  last  refuge.  But  here, 
too,  the  water  was  fast  gaining  ground.  The  waves  were 
beating  just  below  the  windows, the  shutters  creaked, cracked 
and  threatened  any  moment  to  be  torn  off  their  hinges. 

The  water  came  in  through  the  broken  window  panes 
and  the  cracks  ;  it  oozed,  gushed  and  gurgled  down  the 
walls,   forming  pools,  flooding  the  floor. 

All  lost  their  heads,  save  Tolstoi  and  Wilim  Ivanovitch 
Mons,  who  with  presence  of  mind  searched  for  another 
exit  ;  they  discovered  a  small  door  hidden  by  hangings  ; 
it  opened  upon  a  staircase  which  led  to  the  garret.  All 
rushed  towards  it.  Even  the  gaflantest  cavaliers,  now  that 
death  stared  them  in  the  face,  neglected,  even  jostled,  the 
ladies  ;   each  thought  only  of  himself. 


THE    FLOOD  185 

It  was  dark  in  the  garret.  Groping  their  way  among 
beams,  planks,  empty  barrels  and  cases,  they  reached  the 
furthermost  corner  partly  protected  from  the  wind  by  a 
prominent  chimney,  which  was  still  warm  ;  they  huddled 
close  to  it  and  for  some  time  remained  in  the  dark,  flurried 
and  stupefied  by  fear.  The  ladies  in  ball-dresses  had  their 
teeth  chattering  with  cold. 

At  last  Mons  decided  to  go  down  and  find  help. 

Downstairs  the  grooms,  up  to  their  knees  in  water,  were 
leading  into  the  room  their  master's  horses,  which  they  had 
just  saved  from  drowning  in  the  stables.  The  Assembly 
Room  was  changed  into  a  stable,  the  mirrors  reflected  the 
heads  of  horses  ;  rags  of  canvas  painted  with  the  journey 
to  the  "  Isle  of  Love  "  were  hanging  down  from  the  ceiling  ; 
the  naked  Cupids  bulged  in  mortal  anguish.  Mons  gave 
money  to  the  grooms,  and  they  procured  him  a  lantern,  a 
bottle  of  brandy  and  several  sheepskins.  They  told  him 
there  was  no  way  out  of  the  wing  ;  the  gallery  was  shattered, 
the  yard  flooded,  they  themselves  were  obliged  to  seek 
refuge  in  the  garret.  The  promised  boats  never  arrived ; 
it  turned  out  afterwards  that  those  sent  by  the  Tsar  were 
unable  to  get  near  the  wing  ;  the  courtyard  was  surrounded 
by  a  high  fence  and  the  only  gateway  was  filled  up  by  the 
debris  of  a  shattered  building.  Mons  returned  to  his  com- 
panions in  the  garret  ;  the  light  of  the  lantern  seemed  to 
give  them  a  little  courage  ;  the  men  drank  some  of  the 
brandy,  the  women  wrapped  themselves  in  the  sheepskins. 

The  night  seemed  endless  ;  the  whole  house  was  trem- 
bling under  the  pressure  of  the  waves,  like  a  rotten  vessel 
on  the  brink  of  destruction.  Overhead  the  storm  tore 
off  the  tiles  from  the  roof ;  now  rushing  past  with  furious 
howls  and  stamping  like  a  herd  of  wild  beasts,  now  with 
piercing  hiss  and  rustle  Hke  a  flock  of  gigantic  birds  ;  at 
times  it  seemed  as  if  the  wind  would  tear  off  the  roof  itself 
and  blow  them  all  away.  In  the  voice  of  the  storm  they 
seemed  to  hear  the  cries  of  the  drowning ;  they  expected  the 
whole  town  would  disappear  at  any  moment. 

One  of  the  ladies,  the  wife  of  the  Danish  resident,  who 
was  with  child,  was  suddenly  seized  by  violent  pains  and 
screamed  most  piteously ;  a  premature  delivery  was 
feared. 


i86  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

George  Proskoiirov  kept  pra3ang  :  "  Holy  Father  Nicho- 
las, St.  Sergius  have  mercy  upon  us!"  It  was  diflficult  to 
recognize  in  him  the  free-thinker  who  had  been  expound- 
ing the  non-existence  of  the  soul.  Michael  Avramoff  was 
also  quaking  with  fear,  yet  seemed  to  rejoice  at  the  mis- 
fortune which  had  befallen  them. 

"  How  argue  with  God  ?  His  wrath  is  just.  This  town 
will  be  destroyed  from  the  face  of  the  earth  like  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah  :  *  And  God  looked  upon  the  earth  and  behold  it 
was  corrupt,  for  all  flesh  had  corrupted  his  way  upon  earth. 
And  God  said  :  The  end  of  all  flesh  is  come  before  me.  And 
behold  I  will  bring  a  flood  of  water  on  the  earth  and  destroy 
all  flesh  wherein  is  breath  of  life  from  under  heaven.'  " 

Listening  to  these  prophecies  the  refugees  felt  a  new, 
hitherto  unexperienced  terror,  as  if  the  end  of  the  world,  the 
day  of  judgment  were  at  hand. 

A  glow  of  fire  flashed  in  the  black  sky  ;  the  sound  of  a 
clashing  bell  was  heard  through  the  noise  of  the  storm  ; 
it  was  the  alarm  bell  :  the  grooms  said  that  in  the  Admiralty 
dockyards  close  by,  the  workmen's  dwellings  and  the  rope 
and  cable  stores  were  on  fire.  Notwithstanding  the  abund- 
ance of  water  the  fire  was  especially  dangerous  in  this  high 
wind  ;  burning  logs  were  blown  about,  and  the  whole  city 
threatened  to  blaze  up  any  moment.  Petersburg  was 
perishing  from  these  two  elements  :  fire  and  water  ;  the 
prophecies  were  being  fulfilled,  Petersburg  was  doomed. 

Towards  dawn  the  storm  subsided  ;  in  the  grey  trans- 
parency of  the  dim  light  the  gentlemen  in  wigs,  covered 
with  dust  and  cobwebs,  the  ladies  in  "  robes-rondes  "  and 
hooped  skirts  after  the  Versailles  fashion,  wrapped  in  sheep- 
skins, their  faces  blue  with  the  cold,  appeared  like  spectres 
to  each  other. 

Mons  looked  out  of  the  garret  window  and  saw  in  place 
of  a  town,  a  limitless  lake.  This  lake  was  agitated  not 
only  on  the  surface  but  seemed  to  boil,  seethe,  and  bubble 
up  from  the  very  bottom  like  water  in  a  kettle  over  a  hot 
fire.  This  lake  was  the  Neva,  variegated  like  the  skin  of 
a  serpent's  belly,  yellow,  purple,  black,  but  patched  with 
white  foam  ;  wearied,  yet  angry,  under  the  terrible,  low, 
leaden  sky,  grey  as  the  expanse  below.  Wrecks  of  barges, 
overturned  boats,  logs,  planks,  roofs,  the  skeletons  of  com- 


THE    FLOOD  187 

plete  houses,  carcases  of  animals — all  these  were  float- 
ing slowly  past  on  its  waves. 

Melancholy  were  the  traces  of  human  life  in  the  midst 
of  this  triumphant  element ;  here  and  there  above  the 
water  peered  the  towers,  spires,  domes  and  roofs  of  flooded 
houses. 

Mons  perceived  at  a  distance,  opposite  to  the  Peter  and 
Paul  fortress,  a  number  of  rowing  galleys  and  boyers  ;  he 
took  up  a  long  pole,  one  of  those  used  for  scaring  pigeons, 
fixed  Nastenka's  red  silk  neckerchief  to  it,  pushed  it  through 
the  window  and  began  to  wave,  making  signs  to  attract 
attention.  One  of  the  boats  left  the  rest  and  coming  straight 
across  the  Neva,  approached  the  Assembly  Room 
pavilion. 

Peter  had  worked  without  a  break  all  the  night  through, 
rescuing  people  from  water  and  flames  like  a  common  fire- 
man ;  his  hair  was  singed ;  he  narrowly  escaped  being  crushed 
by  a  beam ;  while  helping  to  rescue  the  chattels  of  poor 
people,  who  lived  in  cellar  dwellings,  he  stood  up  to  his 
waist  in  water  and  was  chilled  to  the  bone ;  he  suffered 
with  all  and  cheered  all  ;  wherever  the  Tsar  appeared  the 
work  was  done  so  heartily  that  both  water  and  flames 
receded.  The  Tsarevitch  was  in  a  boat  with  his  father,  but 
whenever  he  ventured  to  offer  help,  Peter  refused  as  if  in 
disdain. 

When  the  fire  was  quenched  and  the  water  began  to 
subside  the  Tsar  remembered  it  was  time  to  go  home  to 
his  wife,  who  had  probably  spent  the  night  in  great  anxiety 
about  her  husband.  On  his  way  back  he  could  not  resist 
the  desire  to  go  round  by  the  Summer  Garden,  and  see  what 
damage  the  flood  had  done  there. 

The  pavilion  projecting  over  the  Neva  was  partially 
ruined,  but  the  statue  of  Venus  had  remained  whole.  The 
pedestal  was  submerged,  so  that  the  Goddess, the  Foambom, 
seemed  to  be  again  rising  from  the  waves  ;  not  the  blue, 
tender  waves  of  old,  but  the  lurid,  dark,  waves,  heavy 
as  though  leaden,  of  the  Styx. 

At  the  foot  of  the  statue  a  black  speck  was  visible.  Peter 
looked  through  the  telescope  and  found  it  was  a  man.  By 
order  of  the  Tsar  a  sentinel  watched  night  and  day  at  this 
precious  statue.     Caught  by  the  waters,  not  daring  to  leave 


i88  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

his  post,  he  had  climbed  up  the  pedestal  of  Venus  and  hud- 
dled himself  close  to  her  feet,  embracing  them  ;  and  thus 
he  had  probably  spent  the  whole  night,  starved  with  cold, 
half  dead  with  fatigue. 

The  Tsar  hastened  to  his  rescue.  Standing  at  the  rudder, 
he  steered  the  boyer  against  current  and  wind.  Suddenly 
an  enormous  wave  seized  the  side  of  the  boat,  swept  over 
them  showering  them  with  spray  and  making  the  craft 
heel  over  to  such  an  extent  that  it  threatened  to  capsize. 
But  Peter  was  an  experienced  helmsm?jn.  Setting  his  feet 
against  the  stern,  leaning  with  all  his  weight  on  the  rudder, 
he  overcame  the  danger,  and  steered  steadily  towards  his 
goal. 

The  Tsarevitch  glanced  at  his  father  and  suddenlj",  for 
some  reason  or  other,  he  remembered  what  his  teacher 
Viasemsky  had  once  told  him  when  drunk  : — 

"  Theodosius  is  wont  to  sing  with  the  choristers  before 
your  father :  where  God  wills  it  the  order  of  nature  is  con- 
quered, and  such  like  psalm  verses.  They  sing  them  to 
flatter  your  father,  and  he  rejoices  to  be  compared  unto 
God;  forgetting  that  not  only  God  but  the  devil  also  has 
power  over  the  elements  ;  there  are  such  things  as  demon 
miracles." 

Clad  in  a  plainsailor's  jacket,  with  high  leather  boots  and 
waving  hair — his  hat  had  been  carried  off  by  the  wind — 
the  gigantic  helmsman  looked  at  the  flooded  city,  his  face, 
calm  and  firm,  like  sculptured  stone,  expressed  neither 
confusion,  fear,  nor  pity.  There  was  something  super- 
human in  this  man.  Like  fate  he  held  in  his  power  men  and 
elements.  Men  would  bow  before  him,  the  wind  would 
abate,  the  water  would  subside,  and  again  the  city  would 
stand  where  he  ordained  it  should  be.  "  The  order  of 
nature  is  conquered,  when  he  wills  it." 

"  Whose  will,"  the  Tsarevitch  asked  himself,  not  daring 
to  reply,   "  God's,   or  the  devil's  ?  " 

A  few  days  later,  when  the  usual  aspect  of  Petersburg 
had  well  nigh  obliterated  all  traces  of  the  flood,  Peter  wrote 
in  a  jovial  letter  to  one  of  his  eaglets  : 

"  Last  week,  the  west-south-west  wind  beat  up  such  a 
flood,  as,  they  say,  had  never  happened  before.     In  my 


THE    FLOOD  189 

apartments  water  stood  twenty-one  inches  high,  while  in  the 
garden  and  on  the  opposite  shore  it  was  high  enough  to 
boat  on.  It  was  very  amusing  to  see  people,  men  and 
women,  perched  on  roofs  and  trees  as  on  Ararat  at  the  Great 
Flood.  The  water  though  high,  didn't  do  much  damage." 
The  letter  was  dated  from  "  Paradise." 


CHAPTER    II 

PETER  fell  ill.  He  had  caught  cold  during  the  flood 
when,  in  rescuing  the  poor  people's  chattels  from  the 
cellar  dwelHngs,  he  had  stood  waist-deep  in  water.  At 
first  he  paid  no  heed  to  his  illness,  and  tried  to  get  over  it  by 
ignoring  it,  but  on  November  15,  he  was  obliged  to  take  to 
his  bed  and  the  Court  Physician,  Blumentrost,  declared 
that  the  Tsar's  hfe  was  in  danger. 

These  days  were  to  decide  the  fate  of  Alexis.  On  October 
2S,  the  day  of  Alexis'  wife's  funeral,  on  their  return  from 
the  Peter  and  Paul  Cathedral,  Peter  gave  him  a  letter,  "  a 
declaration  to  my  son,"  which  demanded  immediate  reform 
on  the  threat  of  severe  anger  and  the  loss  of  the  crown. 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do,"  the  Tsarevitch  kept 
saying  to  his  friends  ;  "  Am  I  to  become  a  beggar  and  hide 
myself  amongst  outcasts  for  the  time  being,  or  shall  I  re- 
treat to  some  monastery  ;  or  shall  I  seek  refuge  in  some 
country  where  fugitives  are  safe  ?  " 

"  Become  a  monk,"  urged  Kikin,  an  old  confidant  of 
Alexis.  "  The  monk's  hood  is  not  nailed  on  his  head;  it 
will  come  off  again  ;  and  meanwhile  you  will  at  least  have 
peace." 

"  I  have  rescued  you  from  your  father's  axe,"  declared 
Prince  Basil  Dolgorouki.  "  Be  of  good  cheer,  there  is 
nothing  left  for  you  to  worry  about.  Write  a  thousand 
letters  of  resignation — of  renunciation  of  the  crown — if 
necessary.  Time  is  with  us.  The  old  proverb  says  :  '  The 
snail  has  started  on  its  way,  but  there's  no  knowing  when 
it  will  arrive.'     Your  decision  is  not  irrevocable." 

"  It  is  well  that  you  have  not  set  your  heart  on  the  inheri- 
tance," said  Prince  George  Troubetzkoi,  trying  to  console 
him  ;    "  '  is  not  gold  the  source  of  many  tears  ?  '  " 

With  Kikin  the  Tsarevitch  repeatedly  talked  over  the 


THE    FLOOD  191 

possibility  of  a  flight  abroad,  where  he  might  hve  simply, 
away  from  everything,  in  peace. 

"  If  it  must  be,"  advised  Kikin,  "  go  to  the  Emperor  at 
Vienna.  You  will  be  safe  there.  The  Emperor  said  he 
would  receive  you  like  a  son.  Or  else  go  to  the  Pope,  or 
the  French  Court,  even  kings  find  refuge  there.  It  would 
be  easy  for  them  to  protect  you." 

The  Tsarevitch  listened  to  these  counsels,  but  unable  to 
make  up  his  mind,  he  lived  from  day  to  day  waiting  tiU  the 
will  of  God  should  reveal  itself. 

Suddenly  the  whole  situation  changed.  Peter's  death 
threatened  to  disturb  not  only  Russia  but  the  whole  world. 
He,  who  but  yesterday  was  thinking  of  hiding  himself  with 
beggars,  might  on  the  morrow  ascend  the  throne. 

Unexpected  friends  surrounded  Alexis  ;  they  met,  whis- 
pered, and  consulted  together, 

"  We  must  wait  and  see." 

"  What  will  be,  will  be." 

"  Our  turn  will  come  !  " 

"  The  mice  will  bury  the  cat ! " 

On  the  night  between  the  first  and  second  of  December, 
the  Tsar's  condition  became  so  much  worse  that  he  ordered 
his  confessor,  the  Archimandrite  Theodosius,  t<D  be  sum- 
moned and  received  the  last  rites  of  the  Church.  Neither 
Catherine  nor  Menshikoff  quitted  the  sick  chamber.  The 
residents  of  foreign  courts,  Russian  Ministers,  Senators, 
spent  the  night  in  the  Winter  Palace.  When  Alexis  came  in 
the  morning  to  inquire  about  his  father,  the  latter  did  not 
receive  him,  yet  the  sudden  hush  of  the  crowd  which  let  him 
pass,  the  servile  bows,  the  searching  looks,  pale  faces,  espec- 
ially of  his  step-mother  and  Menshikoff,  told  Alexis  of  the 
nearness  of  that  which  had  always  seemed  to  him  so  remote, 
so  well-nigh  impossible.  His  heart  sank,  his  breath  came 
quick  and  short,  whether  from  joy  or  terror  he  knew  not. 

The  same  day,  towards  evening,  he  went  to  see  Kikin,  and 
the  two  had  a  long  talk  together.  Kikin  lived  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  town,  hard  by  the  Ochta  quarter.  Thence  the 
Tsarevitch  returned  straight  home. 

The  sleighs  dashed  across  the  desert  wood  and  wide  empty 
streets,  like  vistas  in  a  forest,  with  scarcely  noticeable 
rows  of  log  buildings  buried  in  the  snow  drifts.     The  moon 


192  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

itself  was  invisible  ;  but  the  air  was  filled  with  bright  moon- 
lit sparks.  The  snow  did  not  fall  from  on  high.  The 
wind  sent  it  in  whirlwinds  and  in  pillars  like  smoke.  The 
luminous  snowstormi  sparkled  and  foamed  in  the  dull  blue 
sky  like  wine  in  a  goblet. 

He  breathed  the  frosty  air  with  delight.  He  felt  bright 
as  though  his  soul  also  was  filled  with  a  wild,  luminous,  intox- 
icating storm,  and  as  the  hidden  moon  lit  up  the  storm,  so 
also  was  his  brightness  due  to  a  hidden  thought,  which 
though  afraid  to  own,  he  yet  felt  to  be  the  cause  of  his  heady 
fear  and  joy. 

Dim  lights  were  glimmering  through  the  bluish  moonlit 
mist.  They  came  from  the  frost-rimed  windows  of  the 
huts,  which,  oyerhung  with  icicles,  suggested  drunken  eyes 
glowing  from  under  hoary  eyebrows. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  thought,  looking  at  them,  "  people  are 
there  drinking  my  health,  the  health  of  '  Russia's  Hope  ' !  " 
and  his  elation  increased. 

On  his  return,  he  sat  down  before  the  hearth  where  the 
embers  were  faintly  glowing,  and  ordered  Afanassieff  to 
prepare  him  a  hot  drink.  The  room  was  dark,  the  candles 
had  not  yet  been  brought  in.  Alexis  loved  the  dusk. 
Suddenly  in  the  glow  of  the  embers  there  flared  up  the  blue 
centre  of  the  spirit  flame.  The  moonlit  snowstorm  peered 
with  its  blue  eyes  into  the  room  through  the  transparent 
faery  designs  of  the  frost.  Behind  the  window  panes  there 
quivered  also  a  huge,  living,  blue,  delirious  flame. 

Alexis  was  relating  to  Afanassieff  his  conversation  with 
Kikin  ;  it  was  the  outline  of  a  plot  drawn  up  in  case  flight 
was  inevitable  and  return  only  possible  after  his  father's 
death,  which  he  thought  would  soon  happen — the  Tsar  was 
suffering  from  epilepsy,  and  such  people  do  not  live  long. 

The  Ministers,  the  Senators, — Tolstoi,  Gorlovkine,  Sha- 
firoff.  Apraksin,  Streshneff,  Dolgorouki,  were  all  his  friends, 
and  would  side  with  him.  Bauer  in  Poland,  the  Archiman- 
drite Petchorski  in  the  Ukraine,  Sheremetieff  with  all  his 
forces. 

"  From  the  European  frontier  all  would  belong  to  me." 

Afanassieff  was  listening  with  his  usual  stubborn,  morose 
expression,  which  as  much  as  said  :  The  talk  is  all  very  fine, 
but  how  will  it  work  ? 


THE    FLOOD  193 

"  And  what  about  Menshikoff  ?  "  he  queried,  when  Alexis 
had  ended. 

"  Menshikoff  will  be  impaled." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"  Why  talk  so  rashly,  my  lord  ?  What  if  some  one  should 
hear  and  report  ?  Curse  not  the  king — no,  not  in  thy 
thought — and  curse  not  the  rich  in  thy  bedchamber,  for  a 
bird  of  the  air  shall  carry  the  voice,  and  that  which  hath 
wings  shall  tell  the  matter " 

"Oh,  stop  that  meandering,"  the  Tsarevitch  waved  his 
hand  in  annoyance,  and  yet  with  an  unrestrainable  sense  of 

joy- 

Afanassieff  was  roused. 

"  I  am  not  meandering :  I  am  only  speaking  the  truth.  It 
is  as  well  not  to  praise  the  dream  before  it  has  proved  true. 
Your  Highness  indulges  in  building  castles  in  the  air.  You 
won't  listen  to  us  humble  folk  ;  you  heed  only  those  who 
deceive  you.  Both  Tolstoi,  the  Judas,  and  Kikin,  the 
Atheist,  both  are  traitors.  Be  on  your  guard,  my  lord, 
you  are  not  the  first  they  have  betrayed." 

"  I  spit  upon  them  all,  if  only  the  people  stand  by  me  ! 
When  the  time  comes  and  my  father  is  dead,  I  will  whisper 
to  the  prelates,  and  the  prelates  to  the  priests,  and  the  priests 
to  their  flock,  and  they  will  make  me  Tsar,  whether  I  will 
or  no." 

The  old  man  remained  silent,  his  face  still  bore  the  same 
stubborn,  morose  expression  which  clearly  said,  "  This  kind 
of  talk  is  all  very  fine,  but  how  will  it  work  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  say  something  ?  "  said  Alexis. 

"  What  should  I  say,  Tsarevitch,  it  is  for  you  to 
decide.  But  as  for  running  away  from  your  father,  I  do  not 
advise  it." 

"  And  why  not  ?  " 

"  Simply  for  this  reason  ;  it's  all  very  well  if  you  succeed, 
but  suppose  you  fail,  I  shall  have  to  bear  the  consequences. 
As  it  is  you  are  ever  ready  to  vent  your  wrath  on  me.  We 
are  unimportant  people,  yet  we,  too,  can  feel." 

"Be  on  your  guard,  Afanassieff,  and  don't  let  any  one 
know  I  told  you.  No  one,  save  you  and  Kikin,  knows  of 
my  plans.  But  even  if  you  should  report,  you  won't  be 
believed  ;   I  will  deny  everything,  you  will  be  tortured." 

N 


194  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Alexis  had  made  this  addition  about  the  torture  just  for 
the  sake  of  teasing  the  old  man. 

"  When  you  are  Tsar,  will  you  then  also  threaten  your 
faithful  servants  with  the  torture -chamber  ?  " 

"  Have  no  fear,  Afanassieff !  If  ever  I  am  Tsar,  I  will 
do  my  best  by  you But  I  shall  never  be  a  Tsar." 

"  You  will,  you  will,"  retorted  the  old  man  with  such 
conviction  that  again  Alexis  was  half-choking  with  joy. 

Bells,  the  grating  of  sleighs  on  the  snow,  the  snorting  of 
horses,  and  voices  were  heard  under  the  windows. 

Alexis  exchanged  looks  with  Afanassieff.  Who  could 
it  possibly  be  at  so  late  an  hour  ?  Not  from  the  palace, 
surely  ! 

Afanassieff  ran  into  the  hall.  It  was  the  Archimandrite 
Theodosius.  The  Tsarevitch,  on  seeing  him,  thought  his* 
father  had  died  ;  he  grew  so  pale,  that  the  monk,  notwith- 
standing the  darkness,  noticed  it  while  giving  the  blessing, 
and  faintly  smiled. 

When  they  were  alone,  Theodosius  sat  near  the  fire  oppo- 
site to  the  Tsarevitch,  and  silently  looking  at  him  with  the 
same  scarcely  perceptible  smile,  began  to  warm  his  hands 
over  the  fire,  opening  and  closing  his  fingers,  which  looked 
like  bat-claws. 

"  How  is  my  father  ?  "  at  last  Alexis  asked,  plucking  up 
courage. 

"  Very  bad,"  the  monk  sighed  heavily,  "  so  bad  that  we 
don't  expect  him  to  live." 

The  Tsarevitch  made  a  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  God's  will  be  done  !  " 

"  Man  is  like  a  cedar  of  Lebanon  to  look  upon,"  began 
Theodosius,  chanlingly  in  the  church  style,  "  yet  he  passes 
and  no  trace  is  left.  His  spirit  will  leave  him  ;  to  earth 
will  he  return,  and  all  his  thoughts  will  perish  with  him  on 
the  same  day  " — he  stopped  short  suddenly,  and  bringing 
his  tiny  shrunken  face  up  to  Alexis,  he  began  to  whisper  in 
a  quick,  insinuating  voice — "  God  waits  a  long  time,  yet 
when  He  visits  He  is  severe.  The  Tsar's  illness  has  been 
brought  about  by  his  incessant  drinking  and  voluptuous- 
ness. It  is  God's  revenge  for  attacking  the  clergy,  whom  he 
wanted  to  exterminate.  No  good  can  come  while  the 
Church  is  overawed  by  tyranny.     Can  this  religion  of  ours 


THE    FLOOD  195 

be  called  Christianity  ;  it  might  be  the  Turkish  rehgion  ; 
yet  even  in  Turkey  such  things  do  not  happen.  Our  Rus- 
sian country  is  doomed." 

Alexis  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears.  He  had  expected 
anything  from  Theodosius  save  this. 

"  But  what  were  you  prelates,  guardians  of  the  Russian 
Church,  doing  ?  Whose  business  is  it  but  yours  to  stand  up 
for  the  Church  ?  "  the  Tsarevitch  said,  gazing  intently  at 
Theodosius. 

"  Ah,  Tsarevitch,  what  power  is  left  to  us  ?  Our  prelates 
are  so  bridled  that  they  will  follow  whichever  way  you  lead 
them.  They  have  as  much  power  as  the  country  police  ; 
they  do  the  will  of  him  who  appoints  them.  They  turn 
whichever  way  the  wind  blows.  They  are  not  prelates,  but 
a  mob." 

And  hanging  his  head,  he  added  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  to 
himself,  and  to  Alexis  it  seemed  to  be  the  voice  of  the  past, 
"  We  were  all  eagles,  now  we  have  become  bats." 

His  black  hood,  the  wide  sleeves  of  his  gown,  his  ugly 
pointed  face  lit  up  by  the  bla^e  of  the  dying  embers,  all  this 
made  him  look  very  much  like  a  huge  bat  ;  only  in  his  clever 
eyes  there  glowed  the  hght  of  an  eagle's. 

"  It  ill  behoves  you  to  talk  and  me  to  listen  ;  "  the  Tsare- 
vitch at  last  burst  out.  "  Who  has  brought  the  Church  under 
the  State  ?  Who  is  trying  to  introduce  Lutheran  customs 
among  the  people  ?  Who  has  persuaded  the  Tsar  to  destroy 
all  the  chapels,  defile  icons,  and  close  the  monasteries  ? 
Who  gives  him  dispensation  for  all  this  ?  " 

He  stopped.  The  monk  continued  to  eye  him  with  the 
same  persistent,  penetrating  gaze.  Alexis  felt  uneasy. 
Was  this  not  after  all  a  trap  ?  Had  Theodosius  been  sent 
to  him  as  a  spy  by  Menshikoff,  or  by  his  father  ? 

"  Does  your  Highness  remember  a  figure  of  speech  called 
'  the  reductio  ad  absurdum  '  in  logic  ?  "  said  the  monk, 
winking  with  an  infinitely  cunning  smile.  "  That  is  what 
I  am  doing.  The  Tsar  has  attacked  the  Church,  yet  dares 
not  oppose  it  openly,  only  secretly  he  destroys,  corrupts, 
and  corrodes  it.  As  for  me,  I  had  rather  do  a  thing 
thoroughly,  if  I  do  it  at  all,  and  quickly  if  it  has  to  be  done. 
I  prefer  honest  Lutheranism  to  a  crooked  orthodoxy ; 
an  avowed  atheism  to  crooked  Lutheranism.     The   worse 


196  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

the  better  !  That  is  my  way.  What  the  Tsar  indicates  I 
carry  out.  \\^hat  he  whispers  I  openly  declare  to  the 
people.  I  make  him  convict  himself ;  let  every  one  know 
that  the  Church  of  God  is  defiled.  By  dint  of  patience 
one  can  get  used  to  anything  :  yet  if  this  won't  work, 
the  time  will  come  when  we,  too,  will  have  our  fiiug. 
The  cat  will  have  to  pay  for  all  the  tears  it  has  caused  the 
mice." 

"  Now  this  is  adroit."  laughed  the  Tsarevitch  ;  he  felt 
admiration  for  Theodosius,  though  he  did  not  believe  a 
single  word  he  said.  "  You  are  sly,  Father,  sly  as  the  devil 
himself." 

"  Don't  disdain  devils.  Satan  serves  God's  purpose  even 
against  his  will." 

"  Does  your  holiness  compare  yourself  to  a  devil  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  diplomatist,"  modestly  retorted  the  monk, 
"with  wolves  I  howl  like  a  wolf.  Dissimulation  is  not  only 
recommended  by  political  teachers,  but  by  God  Himself  ; 
as  a  fisherman  hides  the  hook  with  a  worm,  so  did  the 
Lord  hide  His  Spirit  in  the  flesh  of  His  Son,  and  casting 
His  line  into  the  world's  pool,  outdid  and  caught  Satan 
the  Feind.  Intrigue  of  divine  wisdom  !  Heavenly  diplo- 
macy !  " 

"  May  I  ask  you,  Holy  Father,  do  you  believe  in  God  ?  " 
Again  the  Tsarevitch  eyed  him  narrowlv. 

"  How  can  a  country  be  without  a  Church,  and  the 
Church  without  God?"  And  then  with  a  strange  simper, 
half  timid,  half  insolent,  he  added  :  "  But  you,  too,  Alexis 
Petrovitch,  are  not  a  fool  ;  you  are  more  intelligent  than 
your  father,  the  Tsar  ;  though  he  is  clever,  yet  he  does  not 
know  men  ;  we  often  used  to  lead  him  by  the  nose.  You 
will  be  a  better  judge  of  men."  And  suddenly  he  stooped 
and  kissed  Alexis'  hand  so  quickly  and  adroitly  that  the 
latter  had  no  time  to  pull  it  away  ;  only  a  shudder  passed 
through  him. 

Though  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  the  monk's  flattery 
was  oiily  honey  on  a  knife,  yet  the  honey  was  sweet. 

He  blushed,  and  in  order  to  conceal  his  confusion,  he 
continued  with  feigned  curtncss :  "  Be  careful,  father, 
and  don't  over-reach  yourself.  The  pitcher  goes  to  the 
well  till  it  breaks.     As  a  cat  tries  to  scratch  a  bear,  so  you 


THE    FLOOD  197 

dare  my  father ;  but  suppose  the  bear  objects,  and,  turning 
round,  crushes  you,  where  will  you  be  then  ?  " 

The  monk's  face  fell,  contracted,  his  eyes  dilated,  and  look- 
ing round  to  ascertain  that  no  one  was  standing  behind  him, 
he  began  to  whisper  in  a  hurried,  disjointed,  as  it  were 
feverish  whisper  : — 

"  Ah  !  your  Highness,  it  is  bad  enough  as  it  is,  I  always 
had  a  feeling  that  he  will  kill  me !  When  yet  I  was  but  a 
child  I  was  brought  to  Moscow,  together  with  other  nobles  ; 
we  were  led  into  a  hall  and  allowed  to  kiss  the  sovereign's 
hand.  I  first  went  up  to  your  uncle,  the  Tsar  Ivan 
Alexyevitch  ;  but  when  I  came  to  kiss  Tsar  Peter's  hand, 
such  fear  possessed  me  that  my  knees  shook ;  I  could  hardly 
keep  upright ;  and  ever  since  I  have  had  the  feehng  that  I 
shall  die  by  that  hand." 

Even  now  he  was  trembling  with  fear,  yet  hatred  was 
stronger  than  fear.  He  began  talking  about  Peter  in  such 
terms  that  Alexis  almost  believed  them  to  be  sincere.  He 
discerned  in  this  talk  his  own  secret,  wicked  thoughts  about 
his  father. 

"He  is  called  Great  !  but  in  what  does  his  greatness 
reveal  itself  ?  He  reigns  as  a  tyrant.  He  introduces  civili- 
zation with  axe  and  knout  !  And  the  axe,  too,  is  nothing 
extraordinary,  anybody  can  bu}'  one.  He  is  ever  on  the 
search  for  plots  and  rebelhons.  But  he  does  not  realize 
that  he  himself  is  the  source  of  all  this  unrest.  He  himself 
is  the  first  rebel.  He  breaks,  knocks  down,  fells  with  all  his 
might.  But  there  is  no  method  in  it.  What  multitudes 
have  been  executed,  what  quantities  of  blood  have  been 
shed !  Yet  the  wrong  does  not  decrease.  People's  con- 
sciences are  not  bound.  Blood  is  not  water,  it  cries  for 
vengeance  !  Soon  God's  wrath  will  come  down  upon 
Russia,  and  when  civil  war  begins  then  the  eyes  of  every 
one  will  be  opened.  Such  an  uproar,  such  decapitations 
will  be  set  going — shwisk,  shwisk.  shwisk  !  " — he  passed 
his  hand  across  his  throat  and  tried  to  imitate  the  sound 
of  an  axe.  "  And  only  then,  out  of  this  sea  of  blood  will 
arise  the  Church  of  God,  pure,  whiter  than  the  snow,  like 
a  woman  arrayed  in  the  glory  of  the  sun,  reigning  over  all 
rulers." 

Alexis  watched  his  face,  disfigured  by  passion,  his  e5''es 


198  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

flashing  with  wild  fire,  and  it  seemed  as  if  a  madman  was 
sitting   before   him. 

He  remembered  hearing  from  a  monk  that  Father  Theo- 
dosius  was  sometimes  subject  to  melancholy;  tormented 
by  the  evil  spirit,  he  falls  to  the  ground  and  behaves  hke  one 
beside  himself. 

"  I  anticipated  this,  and  that  is  what  I  was  leading  up  to," 
concluded  Theodosius,  "  but  it  seems  that  God  has  shown 
mercy  to  Russia  ;  the  Tsar  is  struck  down,  the  people  are 
spared.  You  are  sent  tmto  us,  you  are  our  salvation,  our 
joy,  our  bright  son  of  the  Church,  the  most  pious  sovereign, 
Alexis  Petrovitch,  Autocrat  of  all  the  Russias,  Your 
Majesty  !  " 

The  Tsarevitch  started  up  in  terror.  Theodosius  too  had 
risen,  fallen  at  his  feet,  embraced  his  knees,  and  lifted  up 
his  voice  in  a  frenzied,  inexorable,  almost  threatening  prayer. 
"  Protect,  have  mercy  on  your  serv'ant  !  I  will  give  you 
all  .'  All  I  have  kept  back  from  your  father,  all  I  have 
reserved  for  myself.  I  wanted  to  become  a  Patriarch,  I  no 
longer  want  it.  I  want  nothing.  Everything  belongs  to 
you,  my  darling,  my  joy,  my  heart's  delight.  Aliosha  !  I 
love  you  !  You  shall  be  Tsar  and  Patriarch  !  You  will 
unite  the  earthly  with  the  heavenly,  the  white  hood  of 
Constantine  with  the  crown  of  Monomachus.  You  shall 
be  greater  than  any  other  Tsar  on  earth.  You,  the  first, 
you  alone  !  You  and  God.  While  I,  I  will  be  your  slave,' 
your  dog,  a  worm  under  your  foot.  Truly,  your  Majesty,' 
I  embrace  your  feet  like  those  of  Christ  and  adore  you." 

He  bowed  very  low  before  him  ;  the  wide  black  of  his 
pall  spread  on  the  floor  like  the  gigantic  wings  of  a  bat.  The 
diamond-set  panagia  with  the  portrait  of  the  Tsar  and  the 
Crucifix  fell  to  the  ground  with  a  clatter.  Abomination 
filled  Alexis'  soul,  a  cold  shudder  ran  through  him  as  from 
the  touch  of  some  vermin.  He  wanted  to  push  him  back, 
strike  him,  spit  into  his  face  ;  yet  he  could  not  move,  he  was 
as  if  si)el]- bound  by  some  fearful  nightmare.  And  it 
seemed  to  him  that  this  was  no  longer  the  miserable  Theo- 
dosius, but  someone  strong,  terrible,  powerful,  who  lay 
prostrate  before  him.  some  one  who  had  been  an  eagle  and 
had  become  a  bat  ;  was  it  not  the  Church  herself,  dishon- 
oured, dominated  by  the  State  ?     And  through  this  abomin- 


THE    FLOOD  199 

ation,  through  this  terror,  a  mad  delight,  a  giddying  sense 
of  power  turned  his  head.  It  seemed  that  somebody  was 
Hfting  him  on  black,  gigantic  wings  and  showing  unto 
him  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  of  them, 
saying — "  If  thou  therefore  wilt  worship  me.  all  shall  be 
thine ! " 

The  embers  on  the  hearth  were  faintly  glimmering  under 
the  thick  layer  of  ashes.  The  blue  flame  of  the  spirit  had 
all  but  gone  out.  The  blue  flame  of  the  luminous  storm  had 
grown  faint  outside  the  windows. 

Somebody  pale  with  pale  eyes  was  peering  through  the 
windows.  And  the  flowers  wrought  by  the  frost  on  the 
window  panes  stood  out  white,  like  the  phantoms  of  flowers. 

When  Alexis  recovered  he  was  alone.  Theodosius  had 
disappeared  as  if  he  had  fallen  through  the  ground  or 
melted  away  into  the  air. 

"  What  has  he  been  raving  about,"  thought  Alexis,  as  if 
waking  from  a  sleep.  "  The  white  hood — the  crown  of 
Monomachus — madness — melancholy — and  how  can  he 
tell  that  the  Tsar  will  die  !  Where  did  he  get  this  from  ? 
How  many  times  did  we  despair  of  his  life,  God  always 
showed  mercy " 

And  suddenly  he  remembered  what  Kikin  had  said  to 
him  this  evening  : 

"  Your  father  is  not  so  ill  as  he  seems.  The  last  rites  of 
the  Church  were  administered  to  him  on  purpose  to  make 
people  believe  he  is  very  ill,  but  it  is  only  deception.  He 
is  only  testing  you  and  the  others,  trying  to  see  how  you  all 
will  act  after  his  death.  You  know  the  fable — '  The  mice 
gathered  together  to  bury  the  cat,  they  pranced  and  danced 
when  suddenly  up  leapt  the  cat ! — There  was  an  end  to  the 
revel.'  As  for  his  taking  communion,  he  has  his  own  views 
on  this  subject." 

At  the  time  these  words  had  stung  Alexis'  heart  with 
shame  and  disgust.  Yet  he  purposely  let  them  pass,  he 
was  in  too  good  a  humour  to  trouble  about  anything. 

"  Kikin  is  right,"  he  now  decided,  and  a  dead  hand  seemed 
to  grip  his  heart.  "  Yes,  all  was  deception,  pretence,  dis- 
simulation, devil's  policies,  a  game  of  cat  and  mouse — the 
cat  suddenly  leapt  up  and  grabbed — Nothing  has  been, 
nothing  will  be.    All  these  hopes,  rhapsodies,  dreams  about 


200  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

glory,  liberty,  power  were  only  visions,  a  delirium,  a 
madness  !  " 

The  blue  flame  lit  up  for  the  last  time  and  then  went  out. 
Darkness  ensued,  only  the  glowing  embers  peering  from 
under  the  ashes  seemed  to  wink,  smihng  Hke  an  artful  blink- 
ing eye.  The  Tsarevitch  felt  uneasy.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  Theodosius  had  not  gone  away,  that  he  remained  here 
somewhere  in  a  corner  hiding,  holding  his  breath  ;  th'^tat 
any  moment  he  would  whirl  round  with  his  black  bat-like 
wings,  and  whisper  in  his  ear,  "All  the  power  will  I  give  thee 
and  the  glory  of  them,  for  all  is  delivered  unto  me,  and 
unto  whosoever  I  will,  I  give  it." 

"  Afanassieff !  "  called  out  the  Tsarevitch.  "  Bring  a 
light  !   be  quick  !  " 

The  old  man  coughed  and  grunted  angrily  at  having 
to  come  down  from  his  warm  couch. 

"  And  what  did  I  hope  for  ?  "  the  Tsarevitch  questioned 
himself,  for  the  first  time  recovering  full  consciousness 
during  those  days.     "Is  it  possible  ?  " 

Afanassieff,  pattering  with  his  bare  feet,  brought  in  a 
snuffy  tallow  candle.  The  light  hurt  Alexis'  eyes,  it  seemed 
blinding,  dazzhng  after  the  darkness.  A  light  as  it  were 
flashed  across  his  soul,  he  suddenly  saw  what  he  neither 
wanted  nor  dared  to  face — the  reason  why  he  felt  so  happy — 
the  thought  that  his  father  would  die.  And  he  was  horror- 
struck  to  comprehend  that  he  longed  for  that  death. 


CHAPTER    III 

*'  "T^  0  you  remember,  my  Lord,  how  in  your  room  at 
A^  Preobrazhensky  I  asked  you  before  the  Holy  Gos- 
pels, whether  you  would  regard  me  as  your  confessor,  your 
guardian-angel,  God's  apostle — the  judge  of  your  actions  ; 
and  whither  you  believed  that  I,  unworthy  though  I  might 
be,  possessed  that  holy  power  of  the  priest  to  bind,  or  to 
loose,  which  Christ  granted  to  his  apostles ;  and  you 
answered  '  Yes'  ?" 

So  spake  to  the  Tsarevitch  the  arch-priest  Father  James 
Ignatiev,  who  had  come  from  Moscow  to  Petersburg,  about 
three  weeks  after  Alexis'  interview  with  Theodosius. 

Ten  years  before  Father  James  had  stood  in  the  same 
relationship  to  Alexis  as  the  Patriarch  Nicon  had  stood  to 
his  grandfather,  the  gentle  Tsar  Alexis  Michailovitch.  The 
grandson  had  followed  his  grandfather's  precept:  "Let 
the  clergy  be  first  ;  submit  to  them  without  question,  the 
priesthood  is  higher  than  the  Tsarhood."  Amid  the  univer- 
sal desecration  and  thraldom  of  the  Church,  the  Tsarevitch 
felt  it  a  sweet  privilege  to  bow  before  th3  humble  priest 
James.  In  the  pastor's  face  he  saw  ths  face  of  the  Lord 
himself,  and  he  believed  that  the  Lord  was  Lord  of  lords, 
and  King  of  kings.  The  more  absolute  and  severe  Father 
James  was,  the  more  humble  was  the  Tsarevitch,  and  the 
more  he  rejoiced  in  his  humility.  He  bestowed  upon  his 
spiritual  father  all  that  love  he  could  not  give  to  his  father 
after  the  flesh.  It  was  a  jealous,  tender,  passionate  friend- 
ship, almost  like  that  between  lovers.  "  I  take  God  for 
witness  thit  in  the  whole  Russian  Empire  I  have  no  other 
such  frienJ  as  your  holiness,"  he  wrote  to  Father  James 
from  abroad.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  say  it,  but,  never  mind, 
I  will  now  ;   may  God  grant  you  long  life,  and  should  you 

201 


202  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

be  called  to  a  better  world  I  should  have  no  desire  to  return 
to  Russia." 

Suddenly  it  all  changed.  Father  James  had  a  son-in- 
law,  the  clerk  Peter  Anfimoff.  Yielding  to  the  entreaties 
of  his  confessor,  Alexis  had  taken  this  Anfimoff  into  his  ser- 
vice and  entrusted  to  him  the  administration  of  his  estates 
at  Poretzkoye,  in  the  Government  of  Nishni-Novgorod. 
The  arbitrary  rule  of  the  clerk  ruined  the  peasants,  and 
almost  drove  them  to  revolt.  Many  times  did  they  write 
to  Alexis  complaining  about  Peter  the  thief,  but  the  latter 
always  came  out  unscathed,  thanks  to  the  protection  of 
Father  James.  At  last  it  dawned  upon  the  peasants  to 
send  a  messenger  to  Petersburg,  to  their  old  friend  and 
countryman,  Ivan  Afanassieff,  valet  to  the  Tsarevitch. 
Ivan  went  himself  to  Poretzkoye  to  investigate  matters, 
and  on  his  return,  reported  in  such  a  way  that  no  doubt 
whatever  remained  of  Peter's  dishonesty  and  villainy,  and 
what  was  more  important,  that  Father  James  knew  all  about 
it.  It  was  a  severe  blow  to  Alexis.  He  was  indignant,  not 
because  of  the  harm  done  to  him  or  his  peasants,  but  because 
the  Church  of  God  seemed  to  him  desecrated  in  the  person 
of  her  unworthy  pastor.  For  a  long  time  he  would  not  see 
Father  James,  he  concealed  his  resentment  and  said  no- 
thing ;   but  at  last  it  burst  out. 

Under  the  nickname  of  Father  Hell,  together  with 
Jibanda,  Sleeper,  the  Lasher  and  other  boon  companions  of 
the  Tsarevitch,  the  arch-priest  was  wont  to  take  part  in  the 
drinking  bouts  of  the  Most  Drunken  Conclave,  an  imitation 
of  Peter's  more  famous  association.  At  one  of  their  orgies 
Alexis  began  denouncing  the  Russian  clergy,  calling  them 
Judas,  the  Betrayers  of  Christ. 

"  When  will  the  new  prophet  Elijah  arise  to  break  your 
backs,  ye  priests  of  Baal  ? "  exclaimed  Alexis,  looking 
straight  at  Father  James. 

"  You  speak  wildly,  Tsarevitch,"  the  latter  interposed 
with  severity,  "  it  ill  becomes  you  to  cast  reproaches  at  us, 
your  unworthy  intercessors  with  God " 

"  Oh !  we  know  your  prayers,"  interrupted  Alexis, 
"  You  seek  pardon  and  in  the  same  breath  pray  for  God's 
blessing  on  your  knavery.  My  father,  the  Tsar  Peter,  may 
God  grant  him  long  life  !  did  well    to    clip    your   wings  ! 


THE    FLOOD  203 

You  desf.rve  to  be  treated  much  worse  than  this,  you  Phari- 
sees, hypocrites,  serpent  brood." 

Father  James  got  up  from  the  table,  came  up  to  the 
Tsarevitch  and  asked  in  a  solemn  voice  : — 

"  Of  whom  do  you  speak,  my  Lord.     Is  it  myself  ?  " 

At  this  minute  Father  James  resembled  the  holy  Father, 
the  patriarch  Nikon,  but  Peter's  son  no  longer  resembled 
the  gentle  Tsar  Alexis  Michailoevitch. 

"  You  too  are  included,"  answered  theTsarevitch,standing 
up  and  continuing  to  look  at  Father  James.  "You  too, 
Father,  cannot  be  exempt  from  the  general  rule ;  you  too 
have  sold  your  soul  to  the  devil ;  and  have  become  a  priest 
from  motives  of  self  interest.  Why  do  you  assume  such 
pride  ?  You  want  the  Patriarchate,  no  doubt  ?  If  so,  you 
are  a  long  way  off  it.  Wait,  the  Lord  will  soon  cast  you 
down  from  the  pride  of  place  which  your  Church  assumes, 
and  you  will  fall  into  the  mud,  mud,  mud  !  " 

He  added  a  ribald  expression  ;  all  laughed.  Father 
James  lost  control  over  himself,  he  too  was  drunk,  though 
not  so  much  with  wine  as  with  anger.  "  Hold  your  tongue, 
Alexis,"  he  cried.     "  Be  quiet,  you  puppy." 

"  If  I  am  a  puppy,  you.  Father,  are  a  dog  !  " 

Father  James'  face  became  purple,  he  trembled  all  over, 
raised  both  his  hands  over  the  head  of  the  Tsarevitch, 
and  with  the  voice  in  which  he  was  wont  to  pronounce  the 
anathema  against  all  heretics  and  apostates,  he  now  called 
out: 

"  I  will  curse  you  with  the  power  given  to  us  by  the  Lord 
Himself,  through  the  Apostle  Peter " 

"Spare  your  breath,"  retorted  Alexis  with  a  malignant 
smile.  "  Don't  invoke  Peter  the  Apostle,  but  Peter  Anfi- 
mof^  the  clerk,  the  thief,  your  beloved  son-in-law,  it's  he, 
Peter  the  vile,  Peter  the  evil  one,  who  possesses  you  and 
cries  within  you! " 

Father  James  dropped  one  hand  and  struck  Alexis  on  the 
cheek :     "  Closing  the  mouth  of  the  evil  one." 

The  Tsarevitch  fell  upon  him,  with  one  hand  he  seized 
him,  the  other  was  searching  for  a  knife  on  the  table.  Dis- 
torted by  anger,  pale,  with  flashing  eyes,  the  face  of  Alexis 
bore  a  momentary,  mysterious  likeness  to  his  father  Peter. 
It  was  one  of  those  fits  of  fury  which  from  time  to  time  the 


204  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Tsarevitch  was  subject  to,  and  while  it  lasted  he  was  capa- 
ble of  any  crime. 

The  others  started  up  and  rushed  to  separate  them  ; 
they  seized  the  combatants  by  hands  and  feet,  and,  after 
considerable  effort,  succeeded  in  parting  Ihfm. 

This  quarrel,  like  all  similar  quarrels,  had  no  result  :  a 
drunkard  is  not  responsible  for  his  deeds  ;  it  is  a  usual  thing 
to  drink,  fight,  sleep  it  off  and  be  friends  again.  They  too 
made  it  up  ;  but  the  old  lov^e  did  not  return.  The  priest 
had  lost  his  authority  over  the  grandson  as  he  had  done  over 
the  grandfather. 

Father  James  was  the  intermediary  between  the  Tsare- 
vitch and  a  whole  secret  confederacy,  almost  a  conspiracy, 
against  Peter  and  his  new  town.  This  society  had  for  its 
centre  the  disgraced  Tsaritsa  Eudoxia,  the  first  wife  of 
Peter,  who  had  been  banished  to  Sousdal.  When  the  news 
spread  of  the  Tsar's  supposed  fatal  illness.  Father  James 
hurried  to  Petersburg,  bearing  a  message  from  Sousdal, 
where  great  things  were  expected  when  Alexis  should  be- 
come Tsar.  But  things  had  taken  a  new  turn  by  the  time 
the  priest  had  arrived.  Ihi  Tsar  grew  better  so  rapidly 
that  his  recovery  seemed  almost  miraculous,  or  else  his 
illness  had  been  feigned.  Kikin's  prophecy  had  been  ful- 
filled :  the  cat  which  was  supposed  to  be  dead  had  leapt  up, 
and  there  was  an  end  to  the  mice's  merry-making  ;  all 
dispersed  and  hid  themselves.  Peter  had  gained  his  end, 
and  had  learnt  what  his  son's  strength  would  be,  should  he, 
the  Tsar,  really  die. 

Rumours  had  reached  Alexis  that  his  father  was  very 
wroth  with  him.  One  of  the  spies,  was  it  Theodosius  him- 
self ?  had  whispered,  it  was  said,  to  Peter,  that  the  Tsare- 
vitch was  cheerful  at  the  time  of  his  father's  illness  and  that 
his  face  was  bright  and  joyous. 

Aga'n  all  forsook  the  Tsarevitch,  avoided  him  as  a  leper. 
After  having  dreamt  of  the  throne  he  saw  himself  nigh  to 
the  scaffold,  and  he  knew  that  he  should  find  no  mercy. 
Daily  he  dreaded  an  interview  with  his  father.  Yet 
hatred  and  revolt  stifled  fear.  This  decej^ition,  this  dissimu- 
lation, this  feline  slyness,  this  sacrilegious  trifling 
with  death  seemed  vile  to  him.  He  could  not  help  remem- 
bering another  dissimulation  of  his  father's.     The  letter 


THE    FLOOD  205 

threatening  disinheritance,  "  a  declaration  to  my  son," 
which  the  Tsarevitch  received  on  the  day  of  his  wife's 
funeral,  October  22,  1715,  had  been  dated  October  11.  the 
eve  of  his  son's,  young  Peter  Alexyevitch's,  birth.  At  the 
time  he  had  not  noticed  the  antedating  ;  but  now  he  saw 
the  reason  for  this  subterfuge.  \\'hen  a  son  was  born  to  him, 
Alexis,  the  Tsar  could  not  very  well  have  ignored  the  same 
in  his  "  declaration  "  ;  nor  could  he  threaten  absolute  dis- 
inheritance when  a  new  heir  had  appeared.  The  substitu- 
tion of  dates  leant  an  appearance  of  legitimacy  to  what 
was  in  reality  unlawful. 

The  Tsarevitch  smiled  bitterly,  when  he  remembered  how 
his  father  always  liked  to  pose  as  artless  and  straight- 
forward. 

He  could  forgive  his  father  everything,  all  the  great 
wrongs  and  ill-doings,  but  he  could  not  get  over  this  petty 
cunning. 

Father  James  found  the  Tsarevitch  immersed  in  these 
thoughts.  Alexis  was  pleased  to  see  him  ;  he  was  lonely 
and  welcomed  any  visitor.  But  Nikon's  spirit  was  strong 
in  Father  James.  Feeling  that  Alexis  now  more  than 
ever  needed  his  help,  he  resolved  to  remind  him  of  his 
wrongs. 

"  Tsarevitch,"  continued  Father  James,  "  you  have 
broken  the  vow  made  unto  me  in  Preobrazhensky 
before  the  Holy  Gospels,  treating  it  lightly  and  with  con- 
tempt. You  no  longer  consider  me  your  guardian  angel, 
the  apostle  of  Christ,  the  judge  of  all  your  actions  ;  on  the 
contrary  you  have  taken  upon  yourself  to  judge  and  out- 
rage us  with  reviling  words.  And  much  misery  did  you 
bring  into  our  household  through  this  affair,  between  our 
son-in-law  and  the  peasants  of  Poretzkoye.  And  you  have 
plucked  me,  your  spiritual  fathsr,  by  the  beard,  a  thing 
your  highness  had  no  right  to  do,  if  only  for  fear  of  the  liv- 
ing God.  .  .Though  I  be  a  vile  sinner,  yet  I  am,  nevertheless, 
a  minister  of  the  pure  body  and  blood  of  Christ.  The  Lord 
of  lords  will  judge  between  us  on  the  day  of  the  great  reck- 
oning, when  there  will  be  no  dissimulation.  Then  the 
power  of  the  world  will  fade  away,  and  the  Tsar  will  stand 
before  God  simply  as  a  man." 

Without  a  word  the  Tsarevitch  raised  his  eyes  to  him  ; 


206  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

they  expressed  neither  grief  nor  despair,  but  such  blank 
indifference  that  Father  James  did  not  continue  ;  he  under- 
stood that  this  was  not  the  right  moment  to  settle  old  ac- 
counts. He  was  warm-hearted  and  deeply  attached  to 
Alexis. 

"  Well,  God  will  forgive  you,"  he  said  in  conclusion,"  and 
you,  my  friend,  forgive  me  also " 

Then  he  added,  looking  into  his  face  with  tender  anxiety  : 

"  Why  are  you  so  downcast,  Alexis  ?  " 

The  Tsarevitch  hung  his  head  and  did  not  reply. 

"  I  have  brought  you  something,"  Father  James  smiled 
with  a  cheerful,  mysterious  air,  "  a  letter  from  your  mother. 
I  have  recently  been  to  see  them.  Their  joy  has  invigorated 
me.  Again  they  have  had  visions,  voices,  saying  :  The 
time  will  soon  come."  He  searched  in  his  pocket  for  the 
letter. 

"  Don't,"  the  Tsarevitch  stopped  him,  "  don't,  Father 
James.  It  would  be  better  not  to  let  me  see  it.  What 
good  can  it  do  ?  Life  is  particularly  difficult  for  me  at  this 
moment.  This  might  be  reported,  my  father  could  get  wind 
of  it.  We  are  surrounded  by  spies.  Don't  go  to  see  the 
religious  again,  and  bring  me  no  more  letters  in  future. 
We  must  not " 

Father  James  again  looked  at  him  long  and  anxiously. 

"This  is  what  they  have  brought  him  to.  .  .the  son 
denies  his  mother!" 

"Can't  you  get  on  with  your  father  ?"  he  asked  in  a 
whisper. 

Alexis  only  waved  his  hand  and  his  head  sank  lower 
still.  Father  James  understood  it  all.  Tears  filled  the 
old  man's  eyes,  he  bent  over  the  Tsarevitch,  laid  one  hand 
on  the  young  man's,  while  with  the  other  he  began  gently 
to  stroke  his  hair,  as  he  would  that  of  a  sick  child,  saying  : 

"  What  is  it,  my  little  son  ?  What  is  it,  my  son  ?  the 
Lord  be  with  thee  !  If  you  have  something  on  3'our  mind, 
don't  keep  it  back  ;  it  will  do  you  good  for  us  to  talk  it  over 
together.  I  am  your  father,  remember  ;  though  I  am  but 
a  sinner  yet  the  Lord  may  give  me  wisdom." 

The  Tsarevitch  continued  to  be  silent  and  avoided  his 
gaze.  But  suddenly  his  face  fell,  his  lips  quivered  with  a 
hollow  tearless  sob,  he  sank  at  his  confessor's  feet. 


THE    FLOOD  207 

"  It's  hard,  Father,  it's  hard !  I  know  not  what  to  do. 
I  can  bear  it  no  longer 1  wish  my  father " 

He  was  unable  to  proceed,  he  seemed  frightened  by  what 
he  was  going  to  say. 

"  Come  into  the  chapel,  come  quickly,  I'll  tell  you  all 
there,  I  want  to  confess.  Judge,  Father,  in  the  sight  of  God 
between  my  father  and  me " 

In  the  chapel,  a  small  room  next  to  the  bedchamber,  the 
walls  were  covered  with  ancient  icons,  in  gold  and  silver 
trimmings  set  with  precious  stones  ;  they  were  a  heritage  of 
Tsar  Alexis.  No  ray  of  sunshine  ever  penetrated  here. 
Lamps  lit  the  perpetual  gloom. 

The  Tsarevitch  knelt  before  the  desk  which  held  the 
Gospels.  Father  James,  robed,  solemn,  as  it  were  trans- 
figured, his  face  quite  simple  and  peasant  like,  slightly 
heavy,  and  bloated  with  age,  yet  from  a  distance  still  hand- 
some, reminding  one  of  the  Saviour's  face  on  old  images — 
held  the  cross,  saying  : — 

"  My  son,  Christ  is  invisibly  present  to  receive  thy 
confession  ;  be  not  ashamed,  neither  afraid ;  conceal 
nothing  from  me,  but  recount  to  me  all  thy  sins  so 
that  thou  mayest  receive  the  absolution  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ." 

And  as  the  sins  were  named  one  after  the  other  in  the 
order  of  the  confession,  the  priest  putting  the  questions,  the 
penitent  answering  them,  Alexis'  heart  grew  lighter  and 
lighter,  as  though  some  powerful  being  were  removing  load 
after  load  from  his  soul,  and,  touching  with  light  finger  the 
wounds  of  his  conscience,  healed  them.  He  felt  happy  and 
awed ;  his  heart  burned  within  him  and  it  seemed  to  hmi, 
that  not  Father  James,  but  Christ  Himself  was  standing 
before  him. 

"  Tell  me,  son,  hast  thou  willingly  or  unwillingly  slain  a 
man  ?" 

This  was  a  question  the  Tsarevitch  was  anticipating  with 
dread. 

"  I  have  sinned  here,"  he  replied  in  a  scarcely  audible 
voice,  "  not  in  deed,  nor  in  words,  but  in  thought.  I  wished 
my  father " 

And  again,  as  before,  he  stopped  short  as  if  what  he  was 
going  to  say  had  frightened  him.   But  the  All-seeing  Eye 


2o8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

penetrated  the  very  depths  of  his  soul,  and  nothing  could 
be  hid  from  It. 

With  effort,  trembling,  pale  and  bathed  in  cold  sweat,  he 
concluded  : 

"  Whsn  my  father  was  ill,  I  longed  for  his  death." 

He  stopped  and  shrank  together  and  bent  his  head  lower 
still.  He  closed  his  eyes  so  as  not  to  see  Him  who  stood 
before  him  ;  his  heart  sank  in  an  agony  of  dread,  as  though 
he  were  waiting  for  the  last  word  of  condemnation,  or  abso- 
lution, which  would  peal  forth  like  thunder  as  on  the  day  of 
JudgiTient,  whan  suddenly  ne  heard  the  familiar,  ordinary 
human  voice  of  Father  James,  saying  :  "  God  will  forgive 
thee,  chil(;i.     We  all  desired  it !  " 

The  Tsarevitch  lifted  his  head,  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw 
the  familiar,  ordinary,  human  face,  not  in  the  least  alarm- 
ing, with  little  wrinkles  round  the  brown  eyes ;  kind  and 
slightly  cunning,  a  mole  with  three  hairs  on  the  round  plump 
ch?ek,  the  reddish  grizzled  beard,  the  same  he  had  once 
pulled  in  a  scufile,  when  in  his  cups.  An  ordinary  priest, 
nothmg  remarkable  about  him ;  yet,  if  a  thunder-bolt  had 
fallen,  Alexis  would  have  been  less  dumbfounded  than  by 
those  simple  words — ' '  God  will  forgive  thee,  we  all  desired  it." 

And  meanwhile,  the  priest  continued,  as  if  nothing  had 
happened  : — 

"  Tell  me,  my  son,  hast  thou  abstained  from  blood,  car- 
rion, from  the  flesh  of  strangled  animal,  or  those  killed  by 
the  wolf,  and  smitten  by  the  bird  ?  Hast  thou  ever  defiled 
thyself  by  eating  what  has  been  forbidden  in  the  holy  laws  ? 
Hast  thou  tasted  in  Lent,  or  on  Wednesdays  and  Fridays, 
butter  and  cheese  ?  " 

"  Father,"  exclaimed  the  Tsarevitch,  "  great  is  my  sin, 
the  Lord  knows  how  great  it  is ! " 

"  Hast  thou  broken  the  Lenten  fast  ?  "  asked  Father 
James  with  anxiety. 

"  I  did  not  mean  that.  Father  ;  I  speak  of  my  father,  the 
Tsar.  How  is  it  possible  ?  I  am  his  son,  flesh  of  his  flesh. 
The  son  prayed  for  the  death  of  his  father  !  He  who  longs 
for  another  person's  death  is  a  murderer.  I  am  a  parricide 
in  thought.  I  am  troubled.  Father  James,  sorely  troubled. 
Verily,  Father,  I  confess  to  thee  as  to  Christ  Himself.  Judge 
me,  help  me,  be  gracious  unto  me,  O  Lord  !  " 


THE    FLOOD  209 

Father  James  looked  at  him,  first  in  astonishment,  then 
in  anger. 

"  You  repent  for  having  revolted  against  your  father 
after  the  flesh,  but  you  forget  your  revolt  against  your 
father  after  th?  spirit  !  Inasmuch  as  the  spirit  is  more 
than  the  flesh,  by  so  much  is  the  father  after  the  spirit 
greater  than  the  father  after  the  flesh " 

And  again  he  talked  in  an  empty,  laboured,  literary  man- 
mer,  insisting  again  and  again  upon  the  honour  due  to  the 
priesthood  above  all.  "  You,  my  son,  have  rebelled.  Like  a 
frenzied  man,  like  a  mad  goat  you  have  screamed  at  me. 
May  God  not  count  this  unto  you  !  It  is  not  your  own 
doing,  but  Satan  plays  me  false  through  you.  He  has 
saddled  you  like  a  sorry  jade  and  rides  you  proudly  like 
a  wild  boar,  according  to  the  vision  of  the  holy  Fathers, 
wherever  he  chooses,  till  at  last  he  will  drive  you  into 
eternal  perdition." 

And  gradually  he  led  the  talk  to  the  affair  with  the  Poretz- 
koye  peasants  and  his  son-in-law  Peter  Anfimoff.  A  veil 
like  a  cobweb,  grey,  wan  and  sticky,  spread  before  the  eyes  of 
the  Tsarevitch,  and  the  face  which  stood  before  him  seemed 
to  dflate  and  double,  as  in  a  fog ;  another  face  appeared 
instead,  also  familiar,  with  a  red  pointed  nose  ever  scenting 
the  air,  blear-eyed  and  sly,  the  face  of  Peter  the  clerk  ; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  dignified  face  of  the  Most  Reverend 
Father  James,  which  resembled  the  face  of  Christ  as  painted 
on  ancient  icons,  merged  and  mingled  in  a  strange  unholy 
way  with  the  features  of  Peter  the  thief,  Peter  the  rogue. 

"  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  by  the  grace  and  abounding  com- 
passion of  His  love,  doth  pardon  and  forgive  thee,  son  Alexis, 
all  thy  sins  !  "  recited  Father  James,  covering  the  young 
man's  head  with  the  stole,"  and  I,  unworthy  minister,  unto 
whom  He  has  given  the  power  to  pronounce  pardon  and 
absolution,  declare  thee  free  of  thy  sins  in  the  name  of  the 
Father,  the  Son  and  the  Holy  Spirit !  " 

Alexis  felt  an  emptiness  in  his  heart.  The  words 
seemed  to  him  meaningless,  powerless,  without  mystery, 
without  awe.  He  felt  that  what  was  forgiven  here  on  earth 
would  not  be  forgiven  him  in  heaven ;  that  absolution  re- 
ceived here  was  not  absolution  there. 

The  same  day  towards  evening.  Father  James  went  for  his 

o 


210  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

vapour  bath ;  on  his  return,  he  sat  down  near  the  hearth 
opposite  to  the  Tsarevitch,  and  began  to  drink  the  hot 
"  sbeeten,"  boiled  in  a  kettle  of  red  copper,  which  reflected 
the  red  face  of  the  priest.  He  drank  in  leisurely  fashion, 
glass  after  glass,  and  mopped  his  brow  with  a  large  chec- 
quered  handkerchief.  He  took  his  bath  and  drank  his 
drink  as  if  performing  a  rite.  In  the  way  he  drank  and 
munched  the  cracknels,  he  maintained  the  same  order  and 
solemnity  as  when  officiating  at  a  Church  service.  He 
manifestly  was  a  respecter  of  ancient  traditions,  and  in  him 
appeared  the  representative  of  the  old  Orthodoxy  of  Russia  : 
"  be  immoveable  like  a  pillar  of  marble ;  bend  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left." 

The  Tsarevitch  listened  to  detached  arguments  as  to 
what  bunches  of  twigs  were  softest  for  use  in  a  vapour  bath, 
what  herbs,  mint  or  tansy,  made  the  best  scent  for  a  bath  ; 
then  to  a  story  of  how  the  priest's  own  wife  had  nearly 
suffocated  herself  in  a  vapour  bath  last  winter  on  the  eve  of 
St.  Nicholas'  day.  Then  to  an  exhortation  drawn  from  the 
holy  Fathers  :  "  The  worm  is  exceedingly  humble  and 
lean,  while  thou  art  proud  and  renowned  ;  but  if  thou  wilt 
be  reasonable,  destroy  thy  pride,  remembering  that  strength 
and  power  will  be  meat  for  the  worms  ;  fear  vanity,  eschew 
anger." 

Again  the  affair  with  the  peasants  of  Poretzkoye  and  the 
inevitable  Peter  Anfimoff  was  introduced. 

The  Tsarevitch  was  sleepy,  and  it  seemed  to  him,  at 
times,  that  it  was  not  a  man  sitting  and  talking  before  him, 
but  a  cow,  interminably  chewing  the  cud. 

The  twilight  was  falling.  Outside,  the  snow  was  melt- 
ing, the  weather  was  warm  ;  a  yellow  dirty  fog  hung  in  the 
air  ;  the  pale  lineaments  of  the  frost-flowers  melted  and 
wept  on  the  window  panes.  The  sky  was  dull,  watery  and 
lowering  like  the  sly,  vile  eyes  of  Peter  the  clerk.  Father 
James  sat  opposite  the  Tsarevitch  in  the  place  which,  three 
weeks  ago,  had  been  occupied  by  the  Archimandrite  Theodo- 
sius ;  and  Alexis  involuntarily  compared  the  two  pastors, 
that  of  the  Old  and  that  of  the  New  Church. 

"  Not  prelates  but  rifraff  !  we  were  eagles,  we  have 
become  bats,"  said  Theodosius.  "  We  were  eagles  and  have 
become  beasts  of  burden,"  the  priest  James  might  have 


THE    FLOOD  211 

said.  Behind  Theodosius  stood  the  eternal  poUtician,  the 
ancient  prince  of  the  world  ;  behind  Father  James  there 
also  was  a  politician,  the  new  prince  of  this  world,  Peter  the 
rogue.  One  was  worthy  of  the  other.  The  Old  was 
worthy  of  the  New.  And  could  it  be  possible  that,  screened 
behind  these  two  persons,  the  past  and  the  future,  there  was 
a  third,  the  unique  image  of  the  Church  as  a  whole  ?  He 
looked  now  at  the  dirty  sky,  now  at  the  red  face  of  the 
priest.  In  both  there  was  something  flat,  trivial,  eternally 
trivial ;  something  which  was  ever  present  and  common- 
place ;  and  yet  more  awful  than  the  wildest  delirium.  The 
heart  of  the  Tsarevit  h  was  empty  ;  he  was  weary  with  a 
weariness  bitterer  than  death  itself.  Again,  as  on  another 
night,  a  bell  was  heard,  first  far  off  in  the  distance  and  then 
louder  and  louder  as  it  came  nearer.  The  Tsarevitch  listen- 
ed  anxiously. 

"  Somebody  is  driving  up ;  are  they  coming  here  ?  "  said 
Father  James. 

The  splaih'ng  of  horses' hoofs  in  the  melted  snow  was 
heard,  the  squeak  of  the  sleigh  runners  on  the  bare  stones, 
voices  in  the  entrance,  steps  across  the  hall ;  the  doors 
opened  and  in  came  a  giant  with  a  handsome  stupid  face, 
a  strange  mixture  of  a  Roman  soldier  and  a  Russian,  Ivan 
the  fool.  It  was  the  Tsar's  orderly,  Alexander  Ivanovitch 
Roumiantseff,  Captain  of  the  Preobrazhensky  Guards. 
He  handed  a  letter  to  the  Tsarevitch,  who  broke  the  seal  and 
read : — 

"  Son,  we  order  thee  to  come  to-morrow  to  the  Winter 
Palace.  Peter." 

Alexis  was  neither  frightened  nor  surprised ;  he  seemed 
to  have  foreseen  this  interview  and  felt  indifferent. 


That  night  the  Tsarevitch  had  a  dream,  which  he  often 
dreamt,  and  always  in  the  same  way. 

This  dream  was  connected  with  a  story  he  had  been  told 
in  his  childhood.  In  the  time  of  the  executions  of  the 
Streltsi  Tsar  Peter  ordered  the  body  of  his  enemy,  the  chief 
rebel  leader,  Boyarin  Ivan  Miloslavski,  who  was  a  friend 
of  Sophia,  to  be  disinterred  ;  it  had  remained  for  seventeen 
years  in  St.  Nicholas'  Church  ;    the  open  coffin  was  then 


212  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

drawn  by  swine  to  Preobrazhensky,  and  there  placed  in  the 
torture  chamber  under  the  block  on  which  traitors  were 
beheaded  so  that  the  blood  should  flow  on  the  dead  man  ; 
then  the  body  was  ordered  to  be  cut  into  pieces  and  buried 
in  that  chamber  under  the  block—"  so  that,"  ran  the  ukase, 
"  the  vile  parts  of  the  thief  Miloslavski  should  be  always 
watered  by  the  blood  of  thieves,  according  to  the  word  of 
the  Psalmist  :  '  The  Lord  will  abhor  the  bloody  and 
deceitful  man.'  " 

In  this  dream  Alexis  seemed  at  first  to  see  nothing,  but 
only  hear  that  terrible  song  from  the  fairy-tale  about  the 
sister  and  brother,  which  his  grandmother,  Peter's  mother, 
the  old  Tsaritsa  Natalia  Kirillovna  Naryishkin,  had  often 
told  him  in  his  childhood.  The  brother,  changed  into  a 
goat,  was  calling  his  sister  Alionoushka,  but  in  the  dream 
Alexis  heard  instead  of  "  Alionoushka  "  his  own  name 
Alioshenka  (diminutive  for  Alexis). 

Alioshenka,  Alioshenka, 
Hot  fires  are  burning, 
Cauldrons  are  steaming. 
Knives  are  being  sharpened. 
All  to  butcher  thee. 

Before  his  eyes  rises  the  vision  of  a  lonely  street  of  thaw- 
ing snow,  a  row  of  bleak  log  huts,  the  leaden  cupolas  of  the 
old  church  of  St.  Nicholas.  It  is  an  early,  gloomy  dawn  ; 
more  like  evening.  On  the  horizon  a  comet  :  a  huge  star 
with  a  tail  red  as  blood.  Fat,  black  pigs,  spotted  with 
pink,  are  drawing  a  mock  sleigh.  On  the  sleigh  stands  an 
open  coffin  ;  in  the  coffin  lies  something  black  stained  with 
blood  in  the  red  glow  of  the  comet.  The  thin  ice  on  the 
spring  pools  cracks  under  the  weight  of  the  sleighs,  and  the 
black  mud  splashes  like  blood.  Stillness  reigns  in  the  air, 
as  at  the  end  of  the  world  before  the  archangel's  trumpet 
sounds  ;  only  the  pigs  grunt,  and  somebody's  voice,  very 
much  like  the  voice  of  that  old  man  in  the  green  faded  pall, 
St.  Demetrius  of  Rostov,  whom  Alexis  remembered  to 
have  seen  in  his  childhood,  whispers  in  his  ear  :  "  The  Lord 
abhors  a  bloody  and  deceitful  man,"  and  the  Tsarevitch 
knows  that  the  bloody  man  is  Peter  himself. 

He  awoke  from  this  dream  as  usual,  in  a  tremor.    A  nearly 


THE    FLOOD  213 

dark  gloomy  morn  was  visible  through  the  window.  The  air 
was  hushed  as  at  the  approach  of  the  Judgment  day.  Sud- 
denly he  heard  a  knock  at  the  door  and  the  sleepy,  grumpy 
voice   of   Afanassieff : 

"  Get  up,  get  up,  Tsarevitch,  it's  time  to  go  to  your 
father." 

He  tried  to  shout  aloud  and  jump  up  ;  but  his  limbs 
seemed  paralysed.  He  felt  as  if  his  body  was  not  his  own  ; 
he  lay  as  if  dead.  The  dream  was  continuing,  and  he  had 
wakened  up  in  his  dream.  At  the  same  time  he  heard  a 
knock  at  the  door,  and  the  voice  of  Afanassieff  saying  : — 

"  It's  time  to  go  to  your  father  !  " 

And  his  grandmother's  voice,  old  and  feeble,  like  the 
bleating  of  a  goat,  was  singing  to  him  in  a  low  voice  that 
terrible  song: 

Alioshenka,   Alioshenka, 
Hot  fires  are  burning, 
Cauldrons  are  steaming, 
Knives  are  being  sharpened. 
All  to  butcher  thee. 


CHAPTER   IV 

PETER  was  speaking  to  Alexis  : — 
"  In  the  beginning  of  the  war  with  Sweden  what 
great  reverses  did  we  not  suffer  because  of  our  own  ignorance? 
How  much  sorrow  and  patience  did  our  apprenticeship 
cost  us,  before  we  were  found  worthy  to  behold  the  enemy, 
before  whom  we  had  trembled,  tremble  in  his  turn  before 
us  ?  All  this  has  been  accomplished  by  my  poor  efforts 
and  those  of  other  true  sons  of  Russia.  For  to  this  day 
are  we  to  eat  our  bread  in  the  sweat  of  our  brow,  as  God 
commanded  our  forefather  Adam.  As  far  as  it  lay  in  our 
power  we  all  toiled  hke  Noah  to  build  the  ark  of  Russia, 
guided  by  one  thought  alone  :  that  the  glory  of  Russia 
should  spread  over  the  world  ! 

"  But  when  I,  after  contemplating  this  joy  granted  b}' God 
unto  our  countrx^  consider  my  successor,  a  grief  well  nigh 
strong  as  my  joy  gnaws  at  my  heart,  for  I  know  you  to  be 
incapable  of    directing    the  affairs  of  the  state." 

As  he  was  ascending  the  staircase  of  the  Winter  Palace 
and  passing  the  grenadier  who  stood  on  guard  at  the  door 
of  the  Tsar's  working  room,  Alexis  had  felt,  as  always 
before  an  interview  with  his  father,  an  instinctive  physical 
fear.  His  head  swam,  his  teeth  chattered,  his  legs  gave 
way,  he  was  afraid  of  falling. 

Yet  as  his  father  proceeded  in  a  calm  even  voice  with 
his  long  speech,  evidently  prepared,  and  possibly  committed 
to  memory,  Alexis'  fear  lessened.  Everything  within 
gradually  subsided,  hardened,  and  again  he  felt  indifferent, 
as  if  his  father's  speech  were  neither  addressed  to  him,  nor 
had  regard  to  him.  The  Tsarevitch  stood  like  a  soldier, 
erect,  hands  to  his  sides,  listening  yet  not  heeding,  looking 
stealthily  around  the  room  with  a  distracted,  indifferent 
curiosity. 


THE    FLOOD  215 

Lathes,  carpenter's  tools,  astrolabes,  spirit  levels,  com- 
passes, globes  and  other  mathematical  instruments,  access- 
ories of  artillery  and  fortitication,  crowded  the  small  work- 
shop, giving  it  the  appearance  of  a  ship's  cabin.  Upon  the 
walls  panelled  in  dark  oak,  hung  the  seascape  views  of  Peter's 
favourite  Dutch  master,  Adam  Silo,  "  Useful  for  the  art 
of  seamanship."  All  these  objects  were  familiar  to  the 
Tsarevitch  from  his  childhood  ;  they  roused  in  him  a  flood  of 
memories.  On  the  Dutch  newspapers  lay  a  large  round 
pair  of  iron-rimmed  spectacles,  bound  with  blue  silk  to 
prevent  them  hurting  the  bridge  of  the  nose ;  next  to  them 
a  night  cap  made  of  white  striped  dimity  with  a  green 
tassel,  which  Alexis  remembered  to  have  torn  off  when 
playing  with  it,  whereat  his  father  had  not  got  cross,  but 
had  left  off  writing  a  decree  and  had  sewed  it  on  himself. 

Peter  sat  at  a  table  covered  with  papers,  in  an  old  leather 
armchair  with  a  high  back,  near  a  hot  stove.  He  wore  a 
faded  blue,  threadbare,  dressing  gown  which  the  Tsarevitch 
remembered  having  seen  before  the  Poltava  battle  ;  he 
recognised  the  same  coloured  patch,  only  more  brilliant, 
on  the  place  once  burnt  by  his  pipe  ;  a  red  woollen  waist- 
coat with  white  bone  buttons,  one  of  which  was  broken 
and  only  half  remained ;  he  recognised  it  at  once  and  he 
counted,  as  for  some  reason  he  always  did  during  the  long 
admonishing  speeches  of  his  father,  and  he  saw  that  the 
broken  button  was  the  sixth  from  below.  The  nether 
garments  were  made  of  coarse  blue  woollen  stuff ;  on  his 
feet  he  wore  grey  worsted  darned  stockings  and  old  worn 
slippers.  The  Tsarevitch  scrutinised  all  these  details,  so 
familiar,  yet  so  remote.  Only  his  father's  face  he  could 
scarcely  see  :  through  the  window,  behind  which  spread 
the  white  surface  of  the  Neva,  a  slanting  ray  of  yellow 
winter  sun  fell-  between  them,  thin,  long,  and  pointed  as  a 
sword.  It  separated  them  and  shut  them  off  from  one 
another.  In  the  luminous  square  on  the  floor  made  by  the 
window,  right  at  the  feet  of  the  Tsar,  lay  coiled  up  asleep 
his  favourite  dog  Lisette. 

The  Tsar  spoke  in  an  even,  monotonous,  and  slightly 
husky  voice  (for  he  had  a  cold),  as  if  reading  aloud  a  written 
decree  : — 

"  God  is  not  responsible  for  your  incapacity,  since  He 


2i6  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

has  neither  deprived  you  of  reason,  nor  robbed  you  of 
physical  strength  ;  though  you  are  not  of  a  very  strong 
build,  neither  are  you  weak.  Yet  you  refuse  to  interest 
yourself  in  military  affairs  and  wars,  which  have  led  us 
from  darkness  into  light,  and  through  which  we,  before 
unknown  to  the  world,  are  now  known  and  respected.  I 
do  not  wish  you  to  make  war  without  just  cause,  only  to 
love  the  military  art  and  to  try  to  excel  in  it.  For  this  is 
one  of  the  agents  of  the  two  essential  requisites  of  govern- 
ment, which  are  order  and  defence.  Contempt  of  war 
will  lead  to  general  ruin,  as  the  fall  of  the  Greek  Empire 
serves  to  show.  Did  it  not  perish  because  it  laid  aside  its 
arms,  and.  filled  with  the  love  of  peace,  desirous  of  leading 
a  quiet  Hfe,  always  yielded  to  the  enemy,  who  brought  it 
into  the  never-ending  bondage  of  tyrants  ?  If  you  imagine 
that  generals  can  do  the  work  by  deputy,  this  is  truly  no  valid 
reason,  for  everybody  imitates  naturally  his  master  ;  what 
the  master  aims  at,  all  aim  at  ;  and  what  he  turns  away 
from,  no  one  cares  for.  Having  no  liking  for  military 
affairs  you  studied  nothing,  you  ignored  everything.  And 
being  ignorant,  how  can  you  command,  how  can  you  reward 
the  deserving,  punish  the  indolent,  seeing  j^ou  know  nothing 
about  their  work  ?  You  will  be  forced  to  wait,  gaping, 
with  open  mouth,  like  a  fledgling.  You  make  your  weak 
health  an  excuse  for  not  performing  your  military  duties. 
That  is  no  sound  reason.  I  do  not  demand  superhuman 
efforts,  only  goodwill,  which  no  illness  can  hinder.  You  think 
that  there  are  many  monarchs  who  do  not  personally  take 
part  in  war,  and  yet  things  go  on  just  as  well.  That  is 
true,  but  though  they  don't  go. themselves,  at  least  they 
have  an  interest  in  it ;  for  example,  the  late  king  of  France, 
Louis,  was  seldom  present  during  campaigns,  yet  he  so 
loved  it,  and  caused  such  valiant  deeds  to  be  done,  that 
his  wars  were  termed  the  theatre  and  school  of  arms  of  the 
world  ;  and  not  only  in  his  wars,  but  also  in  other  affairs  and 
industries  he  showed  great  interest,  and  thus  the  renown 
of  his  country  rose  above  all  others.  Having  laid  this 
before  you  I  will  now  return  to  your  own  character,  for  I 

am  only  human,  and  liable  to  die  at  any  moment " 

The  sunbeam,  which  separated  them,  had  faded  away, 
and  Alexis  saw  Peter's  face.     The  face  had  changed,  as  if 


THE    FLOOD  217 

not  a  month,  but  years  had  passed  since  their  last  interview, 
then  Peter  had  been  in  the  bloom  and  power  of  manhood, 
now  he  was  almost  an  old  man.  The  Tsarevitch  saw  at 
once  that  his  father's  illness  had  not  been  feigned,  and  that, 
probably,  he  had  been  nearer  death  than  he  himself  and 
those  around  him  had  thought.  The  bald  head — the  hair  in 
front  had  fallen  out — the  swollen  e3'es,  the  protruding 
jaw,  the  whole  face  pale,  yellow,  bloated  as  if  dropsical — 
had  about  it  something  heavy,  motionless,  like  a  mask  taken 
from  a  dead  face.  Only  his  eyes,  brilliant,  as  it  were  inflamed, 
dilated  like  those  of  a  captive  bird  of  prey,  prominent, 
protruding,  had  something  of  the  old  youthful  expression, 
which  seemed  now  indescribably  weary,  weak,  almost 
pitiable. 

And  at  the  same  time  Alexis  understood  that,  notwith- 
standing all  his  thought  on  the  subject  of  his  father's  death, 
although  he  had  expected,  even  wished  that  death,  he  had 
never  realized  it,  as  if  unable  to  believe  that  his  father  could 
really  die.  Now  for  the  first  time  he  believed  in  the  possi- 
bility of  this  death.  In  this  new  feeling  there  was  new 
perplexity,  and  a  terror  never  before  experienced,  not 
for  himself,  but  for  his  father  ;  what  must  death  be  to  a 
man  like  that  ?     How  would  he  die  ? 

"  For  I  am  only  human,  and  liable  to  die,"  continued 
Peter.  "  To  whom  shall  I  leave  what  with  God's  help  I 
have  begun  to  plant,  and  some  of  which  has  already  begun 
to  take  root  ?  Shall  it  be  to  him  who,  hke  the  unprofit- 
able servant  of  the  Gospel,  buried  his  talent  in  the  earth, 
and  thrust  away  the  gift  God  gave  him  ?  I  refer 
to  your  wicked  and  obstinate  character.  For  how 
often  have  I  remonstrated  with  you  upon  this,  and  not 
only  remonstrated  with  but  flogged  you  ;  and  how  many 
years  is  it  since  I  gave  up  intercourse  with  5'ou,  but 
to  no  purpose.  It's  all  in  vain,  you  will  do  nothing, 
all  you  ask  for  is  to  live  at  home  in  indolence  and  self- 
indulgence.  There  is  something  in  you  which  thwarts 
all  my  projects.  On  one  side  you  have  royal  blood  and  a 
high  station,  on  the  other  plebeian  thoughts  like  the  lowest 
of  the  serfs.  You  are  surrounded  by  worthless  people 
who  can  advance  you  in  nothing  except  in  actions  which 
are  mean  and  depraved.     And  what  return  do  you  make 


2i8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

to  your  father  for  your  birth  ?  Do  you  help  me  in  my 
arduous  toils  and  anxieties,  having  now  reached  manhood  ? 
Ah  never  !  never  !  All  know  this.  But  what  is  worse, 
you  actually  hate  my  work,  which,  I,  not  sparing  my  own 
life,  have  done  for  my  people,  and  it  is  plain  you  will  destroy 
everything  after  my  death  I  And  pondering  over  this  in 
grief,  seeing  that  I  can  in  no  way  induce  you  to  reform, 
I  have  resolved  to  declare  unto  you  my  last  testament, 
and  then  wait  a  while  to  see  whether  you  will  not  sincerely 
reform.     If  not  let  it  be  known  unto  you " 

Here  he  was  seized  with  a  long  painful  fit  of  coughing, 
which  the  illness  had  left  him.  His  face  grew  livid,  his 
eyes  protruded,  sweat  stood  on  his  brow,  his  veins  swelled. 
He  choked,  and  like  small  children  who  have  not  learnt  to 
cough,  he  choked  from  his  vain,  frantic  efforts  to  expec- 
torate. There  was  something  ludicrous,  and  at  the  same 
time  terrible,  in  this  mixture  of  childishness  and  old  age. 
Lisette  was  roused,  she  lifted  up  her  head  and  looked  at 
her  master  with  wistful  pitying  gaze.  The  Tsarevitch 
also  looked  at  his  father,  and  suddenly  he  felt  a  stab  at 
his  heart,  "  The  dog  has  some  pity  for  him,  "  he  mused, 
"while  I " 

At  last  Peter  got  the  phlegm  up  and  spat  it  out.  He  swore, 
and  mopping  his  brow  and  eyes,  continued  where  he  had 
left  off ;  his  voice,  though  huskier,  was  still  passionless 
and  even,  as  if  he  were  reading  aloud  a  written  decree  : 

"  Once  more  I  repeat,  so  that  you  may  know " 

He  dropped  his  handkerchief ;  he  was  going  to  pick 
it  up,  but  Alexis  forestalled  him  ;  he  stooped,  lifted  it,  and 
gave  it  to  his  father.  This  little  action  brought  to  his 
mind  that  shy,  tender,  almost  loving  feeling  he  once  had 
for  his  father. 

"  Father,"  he  exclaimed  with  such  an  agitated  expression 
in  his  face  and  voice,  that  Peter  looked  at  him  fixedly  and 
then  cast  down  his  eyes,  "  God  is  my  witness  that  towards 
you  I  have  been  guilty  of  no  vile  action  or  design.  I  do 
not  feel  fit  for  the  throne,  and  fear  to  undertake  respon- 
sibilities which  I  could  not  fulfil.  How  can  I  ?  and  am 
I,  father  ...  for  thee  .  .  .  O  lord  !  " 

His  voice  broke.  He  raised  his  hands  convulsively  in 
despair,  as  if  about  to  clutch  his  head,  and  so  he  remained. 


THE    FLOOD  219 

pale  and  trembling,  with  a  strange  distracted  smile  on  his 
face.  He  did  not  know  himself  what  it  was,  he  only  felt 
how  something  grew,  rose,  and  was  struggling  forth  from 
his  breast  with  terrible  force.  One  word,  one  look,  one 
sign  from  his  father  and  his  son  would  have  fallen  at  his 
feet,  would  have  embraced  them  and  sobbed  with  such 
tears,  as  would  have  melted  and  broken  down  that  terrible 
wall  between  them,  like  sunshine  upon  ice.  He  would 
have  explained  everything,  he  would  have  found  words 
which  would  have  made  his  father  forgive,  understand 
how  all  his  life  through  he  had  loved  him,  him  alone,  and 
even  now  continued  to  love  him  with  a  love  stronger  than 
ever,  and  that  he  wanted  nothing  but  to  be  allowed  to  go 
on  loving  him,  to  die  for  him  had  he  but  once  caressed  him 
and  said,  as  he  used  to  say  to  the  child,  pressing  him  to 
his  heart  :    "  Aliosha,  my  darling  boy  !  " 

"  Drop  this  childishness,"  he  heard  Peter  saying  gruffly  ; 
yet  it  seemed  to  be  assumed  roughness,  in  reality  he  was 
moved,  and  tried  to  conceal  his  emotion.  "  Don't  try  to  find 
excuses,  prove  your  faith  by  your  deeds  ;  words  cannot  be 
trusted.  It  is  written  :  '  An  evil  tree  cannot  bring  forth 
good  fruit.'  " 

To  avoid  his  son's  gaze  Peter  looked  aside,  and  yet  there 
was  something  flitting  and  trembling  in  his  face,  as  if  the 
true  face,  familiar  and  loved  by  the  Tsarevitch,  were  peering 
through  a  dead  mask.  But  Peter  had  already  mastered 
his  emotion  ;  as  he  went  on  talking,  his  face  grew  severe, 
his  voice  relentless  : — 

"  Now-a-days  idlers  are  not  high  in  my  favour  !  He  who 
eats  bread  and  is  unprofitable  to  Tsar  and  country  is 
like  the  worm,  which  brings  everything  into  decay.,  and 
confers  no  benefit  upon  mankind.  Even  the  Apostle 
saith  :  '  If  any  man  will  not  work  neither  shall  he  eat.' 
You  have  shown  yourself  to  be  an  idler " 

Alexis  did  not  heed  the  word."?  ;  yet  every  sound  wounded 
his  soul,  cut  into  it  with  insufferable  pain,  as  a  knife  stab- 
bing a  living  body.  This  was  akin  to  murder  ;  he  meant 
to  cry,  stop  his  father,  yet  he  felt  that  his  father  would 
understand  nothing,  would  hear  nothing.  Again  the  wall 
rose  up,  an  abyss  yawned  between  them.  Every  word 
removed  his  father  further,  further,  more  and  more  irre- 


220  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

vocably  from  him,  as  the  dead  recede  from  the  hving. 

At  last  even  the  pain  abated,  again  everything  hardened 
within  him.  Again  he  felt  indifferent,  and  was  only 
wearied  by  the  drowsiness  produced  by  this  lifeless  voice, 
which  no  longer  wounded,  but  only  dragged  over  him  like 
a  blunt  saw. 

To  put  an  end  to  it  and  escape,  he  chose  the  first 
moment  of  silence  to  give  his  answer  which  he  had  prepared 
long  since,  with  the  same  expressionless  v^oice  and  face  as 
his  father's. 

"  Most  gracious  Sovereign  and  Father,  what  else  can  I 
say,  but  that  should  you,  because  of  my  unfitness,  take 
from  me  the  inheritance  of  the  Russian  Crown,  your  will 
be  done.  I  entreat  you,  my  sovereign  sire,  most  humbly 
let  it  be  so  !  I  consider  myself  incapable  and  unfit  for  the 
task,  especially  being  deficient  in  memory,  without  which 
nothing  can  be  done ;  and  having  grown  weak  in  conse- 
quence of  numerous  ailments  in  body  and  soul,  I  cannot 
rule  this  great  people,  who  need  a  stronger  man  than  I 
can  ever  be.  This  is  why  I  would  desire  to  renounce  all 
claim  to  the  Russian  throne  even  though  I  had  no  brother, 
but  I  have  one,  thanks  to  God.  And  I  therefore  in  the 
sight  of  God  finally  renounce  the  Crown,  and,  if  necessary, 
I  am  prepared  to  confirm  the  statement  by  my  own  hand- 
writing. My  children  I  lea\e  to  your  good-will ;  as  for 
myself,  I  only  ask  to  be  fed  till  my  death." 

Silence  ensued.  Nothing  save  the  measured  brass 
ticking  of  the  hanging  clock  broke  the  hush  of  the  wintry 
day. 

"  Your  resignation  is  only  a  means  to  gain  time,  and  is 
not  sincere,"  Peter  said  at  last,  "  for  if  now  you  neither  fear 
nor  respect  your  father's  commands,  how  would  you  keep 
your  word  after  his  death  ?  Your  hardheartedness  makes 
your  oath  of  no  value.  David  truly  said,  '  All  men  are 
liars.'  Even  if  you  yourself  should  desire  to  keep  it,  you 
could  easily  be  influenced  and  prevailed  upon  by  the  '  long 
beards,'  the  priests  and  monks,  who,  because  of  their 
indolence  are  at  present  not  held  in  high  esteem,  yet  whom 
you  favour  exceedingly.  It  is  impossible  for  you  to  remain 
as  you  desire,  for  you  will  be  then  neither  fish  nor  fowl, 
but  you  must  either  change  and  clearly  prove  yourself 


THE   FLOOD  221 

worthy  of  a  throne,  or  else  become  a  monk.  We  cannot 
rest  unless  this  choice  be  made,  especially  now  that  our 
health  is  giving  way." 

Alexis  remained  silent,  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  ground,  his 
face  looking  as  lifeless  as  Peter's.  One  mask  confronted 
the  other,  and  both  bore  a  sudden,  strange,  phantom-like 
semblance ;  two  contrasts  resembled  one  another.  It 
seemed  that  Peter's  round,  wide,  swollen  face,  reflected 
in  the  drawn  haggard  face  of  Alexis,  as  in  a  concave  mirror, 
had  become  strangely  narrow  and  long. 

Peter  too  remained  silent  ;  his  r-'ght  cheek,  the  corner 
of  his  mouth  and  eye,  the  whole  right  side  of  his  face  began 
trembling,  and  twitching,  until  at  last  a  convulsion  ensued 
which  contracted  his  face,  neck,  shoulder,  arm  and  leg. 
Many  supposed  he  was  subject  to  epileptic  fits,  or  was  even 
possessed,  because  of  these  convulsive  spasms  which  gen- 
erally preceded  fits  of  fury.  Alexis  could  not  as  a  rule 
look  at  his  father  without  terror  at  such  moments,  but  to- 
day he  was  calm,  as  if  protected  by  an  invisible,  inpene- 
trable  armour.  What  more  coald  his  father  do  to  him  ? 
Kill  him  !  What  matter  ?  Was  not  what  he  had  just 
done  worse  than  murder  ? 

"  Why  do  you  remain  silent  ?  "  suddenly  screamed  Peter, 
banging  his  fist  on  the  table,  in  one  of  those  convulsive 
seizures. which  shook  his  whole  body.  "  Take  care,  Alexis, 
you  think  I  don't  know  you  ?  But  I  do,  I  see  you  through 
and  through  !  You  have  rebelled  against  your  own  blood, 
you  brat  !  you  long  for  your  own  father's  death  !  O  you 
hypocrite  !  You  cursed  sanctimonious  humbug !  You 
have  probably  learnt  such  behaviour  from  the  priests  and 
the  monks  !  It  was  not  for  nothing  that  Christ  ordered 
his  disciples  to  fear  nothing  except  this  :  '  beware  of  the 
leaven  of  the  Pharisees,'  which  is  no  other  thing  than 
monkish   hypocrisy   and  dissimulation!" 

A  malicious  smile  scarcely  perceptible  lighted  up  the 
downcast  eyes  of  the  Tsarevitch.  He  could  hardly  refrain 
from  asking  his  father  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  sub- 
stitution of  dates — October  it  for  October  22 — in  the 
"  Declaration  to  my  son  "  ?  Where  had  the  father  learnt 
the  arts  of  dissimulation,  this  deception,  worthv  of  Petka 
the  clerk,  Petka  the  villain,  or  of  Theodosius,  the  "  Prince 


222  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

of  this  world,"  with  his  "  Divine  intrigue  ,"  his  "  heavenly 
diplomacy  "  ? 

"  This  is  my  last  warning,"  continued  Peter,  his  voice 
becoming  hard  again,  calm,  passionless  ;  he  mastered  his 
convulsions  by  a  supreme  etlort  of  will,  "  consider  it  all 
well  and  when  yoa  have  made  a  decision  inform  me  at 
once  of  it,  otherwise,  be  it  known  to  you  that  I  will  dis- 
inherit you.  Should  my  finger  become  gangrenous  would 
I  not  be  obliged  to  cut  it  off,  though  it  be  a  part  of  my 
body  ?  So  also  will  I  cut  you  off  !  And  do  not  think 
that  I  speak  this  only  to  frighten  you,  verily  I  repeat  it 
before  God,  I  will  do  as  I  say,  for  I  have  not  spared,  nor  do 
I  spare,  my  life  in  the  service  of  my  country  and  people, 
and  why  should  I  spare  yoa,  who  are  worthless.  Better 
a  good  stranger  than  a  worthless  son.  This  is  why  I  repeat 
it,  so  that  you  may  know  that  370U  may  have  these  two 
alternatives  clear  :  either  mend  your  ways,  or  become  a 
monk!     And  should  you  fail  to  do  either " 

Peter  suddenly  rose  and  stood  before  him  in  his  full 
height.  Again  convulsions  came  upon  him,  his  head 
shook,  his  hands  and  feet  trembled,  the  death  mask  of  a  face, 
twitching  with  grotesque  grimaces,  and  with  its  immovable 
feverish  glance,  was  truly  terrible.  The  hollow  roar  of  an 
animal  sounded  in  his  voice  : 

"  Should  you  fail  to  make  a  choice  I  shall  proceed  against 
you  as  against  a  malefactor  !  " 

"  I  wish  to  become  a  monk,  and  pray  for  your  gracious 
sanction,"  said  the  Tsarevitch  in  a  low  firm  voice. 

He  lied.  Peter  knew  that  he  lied  ;  and  Alexis  knew 
that  he  could  not  befool  his  father.  The  wicked  delight  of 
revenge  filled  the  soul  of  Alexis.  His  unbounded  sub- 
missiveness  was  nothing  but  unbounded  obstinacy.  The 
son  was  now  stronger  than  the  father,  the  weak  more 
powerful  than  the  strong.  What  good  could  accrue  to 
the  Tsar,  if  his  son  became  a  monk  ?  The  monk's  cowl 
is  not  nailed  to  the  head.  It  is  possible  to  take  it  off. 
Yesterday  a  monk,  to-morrow  a  Tsar.  His  father's  body 
would  turn  in  his  grave  when  his  son  should  become 
Tsar ;  Alexis  would  scatter  everything,  destroy  every- 
thing, he  would  bring  Russia  to  perdition.  It  was  not 
enough  to  seclude  him   in  a  monastery,  he  would  have 


THE    FLOOD  223 

to  be  killed,  exterminated,  wiped  out  from  the  face  of  the 
world. 

"  Go  away  !  "  moaned  Peter  with  impotent  fury. 

The  Tsarevitch  lifted  his  eyes  and  stared  at  his  father, 
without  raising  his  head,  as  a  young  wolf  would  look  at  an 
old  one,  showing  his  teeth  and  bristling  his  hair.  Their 
eyes  met  like  two  rapiers  in  a  duel  and  the  father's  gaze 
dropped,  as  it  were  broke,  like  a  blade  against  a  hard  stone. 

And  again  he  groaned  like  a  wounded  beast  ;  he 
raised  his  fist  and  with  an  oath  was  going  to  throw  him- 
self on  his  son,  beat  and  slay  him. 

Suddenly  a  small,  delicate,  strong  hand  was  laid  on 
Peter's  shoulder. 

The  Tsaritsa  Catherine  had  for  a  long  time  been  listening 
at  the  door,  trying  to  see  through  the  keyhole  what  was 
going  on.  Catherine  was  inquisitive.  As  usual  she 
appeared  at  the  most  dangerous  moment  to  save  her  hus- 
band. She  had  pushed  the  door  open  noiselessly,  and 
came  up  to  him  from  behind  on  tiptoe. 

"  Peter,  Peter,"  she  began  in  a  humble  tone,  slightly 
good  humoured  and  coaxing,  such  as  kind  nurses  adopt 
towards  stubborn  children  or  invalids,  "  don't  tire  yourself, 
Peter,  don't  excite  yourself,  my  dear.  Otherwise  should 
yoQ  wear  yourself  out  you  will  again  fall  ill  and  be  obliged 
to  lie  up.  And  you,  Tsarevitch,  go,  God  be  with  you.  You 
see  the  Tsar  is  unwell." 

Peter  turned  round,  he  saw  the  calm,  almost  cheerful 
face  of  his  wife,  and  at  once  he  regained  control  of  himself ; 
his  raised  hands  dropped  limp  at  his  side,  and  his  huge, 
heavy  body  sank  into  a  chair ;  fell  like  a  full  grown  tree  cut 
at  the  root. 

Alexis  continuing  to  look  at  his  father  from  under  his 
eyelashes,  stooped  bristling  up  like  an  enraged  animal  and 
slowly  receded  towards  the  door  ;  only  on  the  threshold 
did  he  turn  round  ;  then  he  opened  the  door  and  hurriedly 
left  the  room. 

Meanwhile  Catherine  sat  down  on  the  arm  of  the  chair, 
took  Peter's  head  and  pressed  it  against  her  large  soft 
bosom,  soft  as  the  bosom  of  a  foster-mother.  Next  to  the 
yellow,  withered,  almost  old  face  of  her  husband,  Catherine 
looked  quite  young.     She  had  a  high  colour  and  her  cheeks 


224  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

were  covered  with  small  downy  moles  which  looked  like 
beauty  spots,  pleasing  dimples,  dark  arched  eyebrows, 
carefully  curled  rings  of  black  dyed  hair  on  her  low  fore- 
head, large  protruding  eyes  and  a  continuous  smile,  such 
as  ever  adorns  the  portraits  of  royalty.  On  the  whole, 
however,  she  less  resembled  a  Tsaritsa  than  a  German 
waitress,  or  else  the  simple  wife  of  a  soldier,  a  laundress, 
as  the  Tsar  himself  called  her,  who  accompanied  her 
husband  on  all  his  campaigns,  washing  and  sewing  for 
him,  and  when  he  was  ill  made  warm  poultices  for  him, 
rubbed  his  stomach  with  ointment,  supplied  by  Blumen- 
trost,  and  gave  him  medicine. 

Nobody  save  Catherine  knew  how  to  tame  these  fits  of 
fury,  which  were  dreaded  by  all  around  him. 

Holding  his  head  with  one  hand,  she  fondled  his  hair 
with  the  other,  repeating  again  and  again  the  same  words  : 
"  Peter,  Peter,  my  dear  one,  my  heart's  treasure  !  "  She 
was  like  a  mother  rocking  her  sick  child,  or  like  a  tamer  of 
hons  fondhng  her  beast.  Under  the  influence  of  this 
gentle  continuous  caress  the  Tsar  always  grew  calm,  as 
it  were  fell  into  a  dose.  The  convulsions  in  his  body 
abated,  only  his  motionless  face,  now  almost  quite  rigid, 
with  the  eyes  closed,  continued  to  twitch  from  time  to 
time,  as  if  grimacing. 

A  little  monkey  had  followed  Catherine  into  the  room  ; 
it  was  a  present  given  to  their  youngest  daughter  Elizabeth 
by  a  Dutch  captain.  The  mischievous  monkey,  followmg 
the  Tsaritsa  like  a  page,  was  trying  to  catch  hold  of  the 
bottom  of  her  dress.  Noticing  Lisette,  it  grew  frightened, 
jumped  first  on  the  table,  then  on  a  sphere  which  represen- 
ted the  course  of  celestial  bodies  after  the  system  of  Coper- 
nicus, the  thin  brass  arcs  bent  under  the  weight  of  the 
little  animal,  the  globe  of  the  universe  gently  tinkled,  then 
higher  still  on  to  the  very  top  of  the  upright  English  clock 
which  stood  in  a  glazed  box  of  red  mahogany.  The  last 
ray  of  sunlight  caught  the  clock,  and  the  moving  pendulum 
flashed  like  lightning.  The  monkey  had  not  seen  the  sun 
for  a  long  while.  As  though  trying  to  recall  something, 
it  looked  with  wistful  amazement  at  the  foreign,  pale, 
wintry  sun  and  screwed  up  its  eyes  and  made  grotesque 
faces,  as  if  mocking  the  convulsions  of  Peter's  face,  and 


THE    FLOOD  225 

the  resemblance  between  the  grimaces  of  the  Httle  animal 
and  those  of  the  great  Tsar  was  terrible. 


Alexis  returned  home. 

He  felt  as  one  whose  leg  or  arm  had  been  amputated  ; 
recovering  consciousness  he  tries  to  feel  for  the  missing 
Hmb  and  finds  it  gone.  In  the  same  way  the  Tsarevitch 
felt  in  his  soul,  once  filled  with  love  for  his  father,  a  void. 
He  remembered  his  father's  words  "  I  will  sever  you  — I  will 
lop  you  off  like  a  gangrenous  hmb,"  and  it  seemiedtohim 
that  everything  had  gone  when  he  lost  the  love  of  his 
father.  He  felt  a  void,  neither  hope,  nor  fear,  nor  sorrow, 
nor  joy,  but  a  light  terrible  void. 

He  was  amazed  how  swiftly  and  easily  his  wish  had  been 
fulfilled  :   for  him  his  father  was  dead. 


Book  V 
THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION 

CHAPTER   I 

"  TT  was  the  will  of  God,  Your  Highness,  that  a  great  fire 

X  should  visit  Moscow  in  1701,  while  the  Tsar  was  at 
Voronesh  building  ships.  In  this  fire  the  whole  of  the  Tsar's 
residence  in  the  Kremlin  was  burnt  :  the  wooden  buildings, 
the  inner  parts  of  those  built  of  stone  ;  churches,  together 
with  their  crosses,  roofs,  screens  and  the  holy  images  them- 
selves— all  were  ablaze.  Th^  belfry  of  the  Great  John 
Tower  caught  fire,  and  the  bell,  weighing  8,000  poods,  fell 
to  the  ground  and  broke.  So  did  +hat  in  the  Cathedral 
of  the  Assumption  and  sundry  oihsr  bells.  And  in  places 
the  earth  itself  was  burning." 

Thus  spake  to  the  Tsarevitch  Alexis  the  sacristan  of  the 
Annunciation  Church,  an  old  man  of  seventy. 

Peter  had  gone  abroad  shortly  after  his  illness  on  Jan- 
uary 27,  1716 ;  the  Tsarevitch  remained  alone  in  Peters- 
burg. Receiving  no  further  intimation  from  Peter,  he 
dallied  with  the  alternative  left  him  by  his  father,  either 
to  fit  himself  for  the  duties  of  the  throne  or  to  become  a 
monk,  and  he  continued  to  live  from  day  to  day  "  till  God 
should  order  othei"wise."  He  had  spent  the  winter  in 
Petersburg  ;  spring  and  summer  in  Roshdestveno  ;  in  the 
autumn  he  went  to  Moscow  to  see  his  relatives. 

On  September  10,  the  eve  of  his  departure,  he  paid  a 
visit  to  his  old  friend,  the  sacristan,  husband  of  his  wet 
nurse,  and  together  they  went  to  view  the  palace  in  the 
Kremlin,  which  had  been  destroyed  by  fire. 


228  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

For  a  long  time  they  wandered  about  the  seemingly 
endless  ruins,  from  hall  to  hall  and  terem  to  terem.  What 
the  flames  had  spared  time  was  destroying.  There  were 
halls  without  doors,  windows  or  floors,  so  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  enter  them  ;  and  in  the  walls  huge  gaps  appeared, 
while  the  ceilings  and  roofs  were  crumbling.  It  was  with 
difficulty  Alexis  could  find  the  rooms  in  which  he  had  spent 
his  childhood. 

He  divined  the  unexpressed  belief  of  Father  John,  that 
the  fire,  occurring  in  the  same  year  in  which  the  Tsar  had 
begun  to  break  down  the  old  ways,  was  a  sign  of  God's 
wrath. 

They  entered  a  dilapidated  private  chapel,  where  Ivan 
the  Terrible  had  prayed  for  the  son  he  had  slain. 

A  deep  blue  sky,  such  as  only  canopies  ruins,  peered 
through  the  rent  in  the  ceiling.  Iridescent  cobwebs  bridged 
the  gap,  and  through  them  could  be  seen  a  cross  which, 
snapped  by  the  wind,  was  suspended  by  half-broken 
chains,  and  so  threatening  to  fall  at  any  moment.  The 
wind  had  broken  the  mica  windows,  and  crows  flying  in 
through  the  holes  had  built  their  nests  in  the  ceilings  and 
messed  the  screens.  White  streams  of  their  droppings 
streaked  the  dark  faces  of  the  saints  ;  one  half  of  the  holy 
gates  was  torn  off ;  in  the  sanctuary  at  the  foot  of  the  altar 
stood  a  pool  of  water. 

Father  John  told  the  Tsarevitch  how  the  priest  of  the 
chapel,  a  centenarian,  had  long  petitioned  the  Public 
Offices,  Departments,  and  even  the  Tsar  himself,  that  the 
structure  should  be  repaired,  because,  owing  to  the  age  of 
the  ceiling,  the  leakage  had  increased  to  a  great  extent, 
there  was  danger  the  Eucharist  would  be  exposed  to  the 
elements.  But  nobody  listened  to  him  ;  he  died  of  sorrow, 
and  the  chapel  fell  into  ruins. 

Crows,  scared  by  their  entrance,  flew  up  with  ominous 
cries  ;  through  the  windows  the  wind  moaned  and  sobbed. 
A  spider  ran  to  and  fro  in  his  web.  Something  started 
from  th?  altar — apparently  a  bat — and  began  to  circle 
round  the  head  of  the  Tsarevitch.  He  felt  terrified,  and 
lamented  the  state  into  which  the  church  had  fallen  ;  to 
his  mind  came  the  prophet's  words  about  "  the  abomination 
of  desolation  in  the  holy  places." 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      229 

Passing  the  golden  rails,  along  the  front  gallery  of  the 
grand  staircase,  they  descended  and  entered  the  Grano- 
vitaia  Palace,  which  had  been  less  damaged  than  the 
others.  But  in  place  of  the  receptions  to  foreign  ambas- 
sadors, or  levees,  originally  held  there,  the  palace  was  now 
used  for  the  performance  of  new  comedies  and  dialogues, 
and  also  for  buffoon  weddings.  And  to  prevent  the  old 
interfering  with  the  new,  the  existing  writing  on  the  walls 
had  been  covered  with  whitewash,  and  daubed  over  with 
a  gay  ochre  pattern  in  the  new  "  German  style." 

In  one  of  the  lumber  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  Father 
John  pointed  out  two  stuffed  lions.  Alexis  at  once  recog- 
nized them  as  the  familiar  objects  of  his  childhood.  During 
the  reign  of  Tsar  Alexis  Michailovitch  the  lions  were  placed 
near  the  th'"one  in  the  Kolomna  Palace,  where  they  bel- 
lowed, rolled  their  eyes,  and  opened  their  jaws  like  live 
beasts.  Their  brass  bodies  had  been  covered  with  sheep- 
skins in  lieu  of  lions'  skins.  The  mechanism,  which  had 
once  produced  the  "  leonine  roaring  "  and  moved  their 
jaws  and  eyes,  was  secreted  in  a  separate  closet,  where  the 
bench  with  bellows  and  springs  had  been  fitted  up.  The 
lions  had  probably  been  brought  to  the  Kremlin  for  re- 
pairs, and  forgotten  here  amid  the  lumber  of  the  store- 
house ;  the  springs  were  broken,  the  bellows  torn,  the  skins 
had  fallen  off ;  rotten  bastwisp  was  protruding  from  their 
sides,  and  pitiful,  indeed,  now  looked  these  sometime 
terrible  playthings  of  former  Russian  autocrats — their 
muzzles  expressing  blank  sheepishness. 

In  some  of  the  halls,  which  had  fallen  into  disuse,  al- 
though they  had  escaped  the  rages  of  the  flames,  new 
departments  had  been  installed.  Thus  in  those  facing  the 
quay,  formerly  known  as  the  "  Obituary  "  and  "  Respon- 
sory,"  the  Treasury  was  now  established.  Under  the 
terems  the  Senate  Department.  In  the  Commissariat  the 
Salt  Office,  the  Military  Department,  the  Uniform  and 
War  Offices.  In  the  old  stable  was  now  the  Cloth  and 
Ammunition  Stores. 

Each  department  had  been  installed,  not  only  with  its 
archives,  officials,  porters  and  petitioners,  but  also  with  its 
prisoners,  who  remained  confined  for  years  in  the  rooms 
on   the   ground   floor.     These   new-comerssw  armed   and 


230  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

wriggled  in  the  old  palace  like  worms  in  a  dead  body, 
causing  much  foulness. 

"  All  the  dung  and  waste  litter  from  privies,  stables  and 
prisoners,"  explained  Father  John,  "  pollute  the  air,  and 
expose  to  no  small  danger  the  Royal  Treasury  and  costly 
plate,  stored  in  the  palace  these  many  years ;  because 
irom  all  that  filth  there  rises  a  fetid  air,  which  might  harm 
the  gold  and  silver  vessels  by  tarnishing  them.  Would 
that  the  dirt  were  cleared  away  and  the  prisoners  located 
elsewhere !  Much  have  we  begged  and  prayed,  but  no  one 
heeds,"  the  old  man  concluded  sorrowfully. 

It  was  Sunday  ;  the  courts  were  empty.  A  heavy  smell 
filled  the  air  ;  on  the  walls  were  the  greasy  marks  of  the 
petitioners'  backs,  while  ink  stains,  ribald  writings  and 
drawings  caught  the  eye  everywhere.  And  above,  from  the 
old  faded  gilt  frescoes,  the  faces  of  prophets.  Church 
fathers  and  Russian  saints  remained  to  look  down  on  the 
scene. 

Within  the  precincts  of  the  Kremlin,  hard  by  the  palaces 
and  churches  adjomg  the  Tainisky  Gate,  stood  the  tavern 
called  "The  Roller."  It  was  so  named  because  of  the  steep 
and  smooth  descent  of  the  Kremlin  Hill  at  this  place.  The 
tavern,  which  had  grown  up  like  a  toadstool,  was  frequented 
by  the  clerks  and  copyists.  For  many  years  it  had  flour- 
ished in  secret,  notwithstanding  the  orders  "  to  exclude 
from  the  Kremlin  the  aforesaid  tavern  without  delay,  and 
that  the  income  from  the  sale  of  liquor  might  not  suffer  to 
permit  the  opening  of  other  taverns  at  discretion  in  more 
convenient  and  fitting   places." 

The  air  was  so  close  in  one  of  the  halls,  the  Tsarevitch 
hastened  to  open  a  window.  From  the  "  Roller,"  crowded 
with  customers,  rose  up  a  wild,  almost  bestial  roaring,  the 
noisy  sound  of  dancing,  music  and  drunken  song,  and  the 
words  of  a  notorious  song,  one  sung  by  the  princess-abbess 
at  his  father's  banquets  : — 

My  mother  bore  me  while  she  danced, 
And  christened  me  in  the  Tsar's  tavern, 
And  bathed  me  in  the  headiest  wine. 

To  the  Tsarevitch  it  seemed  that  "  The  Roller  "  was  some 
dark  yawning  pit,  whence,  together  with  this  song  thus 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      231 

degrading  motherhood,  and  the  smell  of  drink,  there  was 
exhaled  a  stifling  odour  which  filled  the  royal  halls,  causing 
sickness,  dizziness  and  a  sinking  at  the  heart. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  vaulted  ceiling  of  the  hall.  On 
its  surface  were  depicted  "  the  heavenly  bodies,"  the  lunar 
and  solar  circles,  angels  ministering  to  the  stars,  and  other 
works  of  God.  There  was  also  a  picture  of  Christ  Em- 
manuel, enthroned  on  heavenly  rainbows,  with  many- 
eyed  wheels  ;  in  his  left  hand  the  golden  chalice,  in  his 
right  the  staff ;  on  his  head  a  coigned  crown,  and  on  a  gold 
field  tinted  with  green,  ran  the  inscription  : — 

"  Pre-existent  Word  of  the  Father,  Thou  who  art  in  the 
image  of  God,  and  through  whom  all  things  were  made, 
grant  peace  to  Thy  churches,  and  victory  to  the  faithful 
Tsar  ! " 

But  from  below  there  came  again  the  song  : — 

"  My  mother  bore  me  while  she  danced. 
And  christened  me  in  the  Tsar's  tavern." 

The  Tsarevitch  read  the  inscription  in  the  solar  circle, 
"  The  sun  knew  the  time  of  his  setting  .  .  .  and  it  was 
night."  These  words  flashed  on  his  mind  with  a  new 
significance.  The  ancient  sun  of  the  Muscovy  kingdom 
knew  the  time  of  his  setting  in  the  dark  Finnish  bog,  in  the 
rotten  autumnal  mire  ;  and  it  was  night,  not  the  black, 
but  the  terrible  white  Petersburg  night.  The  ancient  sun 
grew  dim,  the  ancient  gold  crown  and  "  Barma  of  Mono- 
machus  "  were  tarnished  in  the  new  but  noxious  air.  And 
the  abomination  of  desolation  stood  in  the  holy  place. 

As  if  to  escape  from  some  invisible  pursuer  he  rushed 
from  the  palace,  and.  without  looking  back,  fled  along 
corridors,  galleries  and  down  the  stairs,  leaving  Father 
John  far  behind,  never  stopping  until  he  reached  the  square, 
where  once  more  in  the  open  he  could  breathe  freely.  Here 
the  autumn  air  was  pure  and  fresh,  and  the  old  white  stones 
of  the  churches  seemed  pure  and  fresh  also. 

In  the  corner  by  the  walls  of  the  Annunciation  Church 
stood  a  low  bench,  where  Fath2r  John  used  often  to  sit, 
sunning  himself. 

On  this  bench  the  Tsarevitch  dropped  exhausted,  while 


232  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

the  old  man  went  in  to  prepare  for  his  night's  rest.  The 
Tsarevitch  remained  alone.  He  felt  terribly  tired,  as  if 
he  had  journeyed  a  thousand  miles.  He  could  have  wept, 
but  no  tears  would  come.  His  heart  was  burning,  and  his 
tears  dried  up,  like  water  dropped  on  a  glowing  stone.  The 
white  walls  were  baih?d  in  a  peaceful  evening  light.  The 
golden  cupolas  of  ths  churches  caught  by  the  setting  sun 
were  ablaze,  like  living  embers.  The  sky  became  lilac- 
hued,  and  as  it  darkened  it  resembled  the  colour  of  a  faded 
violet  ;  ths  white  towers  stood  out  like  gigantic  flowers 
with  flaming  crowns.  The  old  clocks  rang  forth  the  hour — 
the  rapid  ding-dong  of  many  smaller  bells  chiming  in  half- 
tones to  th-2  steady  booming  of  th?  hour-bell — their  con- 
fused medley  of  sounds  producing  a  solemn,  if  somewhat 
harsh,  church  music.  Meanwhile  the  modern  Dutch 
clocks  replied  with  melodious  jingling  and  modern  dance 
music,  "  after  the  manner  of  Amsterdam." 

And  all  these  old  and  modern  sounds  brought  back  to  the 
Tsarevitch's  mind  his  distant  childhood.  He  closed  his 
eyes,  and  his  mind  sank  into  drowsiness — into  that  dark 
domain  where,  betwixt  sleep  and  waking,  hover  the  shadows 
of  the  past.  Visions  floated  before  him,  like  motley  shadows 
on  a  white  wall  when  a  sunbeam  enters  a  dark  room  through 
a  chink.  ^Pne  awe-inspiring  image  dominated  them  all — 
his  father.  And  as  a  traveller,  looking  back  at  night  from 
a  summit,  beholds  in  a  flash  of  lightning  all  the  road  he  has 
traversed,  so  the  relentless  light  from  that  figure  laid  bare 
his  whole  life.  ^ 


CHAPTER    II 

HE  is  six  years  old.  They  are  watching  the  procession 
from  an  ancient  gilded  coach  with  mica  windows, 
which  is  as  clumsy  and  jolting  as  a  farmer's  cart.  The  inside 
is  hung  with  clove-coloured  velvet  and  brocade  curtains. 
Here  he  sits  on  his  grandmother's  knee  amidst  downy 
cushions,  with  his  nurses,  and  maids,  plump  as  pillows.  His 
mother,  the  Tsaritsa  Eudoxia,  is  there  too,  dressed  in  a 
stomacher  and  a  pearl-ernbroidered  gown.  Her  round 
white  countenance,  like  the  eager  face  of  a  child,  wore  a 
look  of  continuous  surprise. 

Through  the  curtain  and  the  open  window  of  the  coach, 
he  witnesses  the  triumphal  procession  of  the  troops  on  their 
return  from  the  Azov  campaign.  He  is  delighted  with  the 
regular  lines  of  the  regiments  as  they  march  past,  the  brass 
guns  flashing  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  shields  with  their 
roughly  drawn  allegories.  He  rememibers  two  of  them. 
One  pictured  a  pair  of  Turks  chained  together,  bearing  the 
inscription  : — 

"  Calamity  overtook  us 
When  Azov  was  lost  to  us." 

The  other  depicted  upon  a  sea  of  startling  blue  the  god 
Neptune,  a  red-hued  man  astride  a  monster  with  green 
scales.     He  is  made  to  brandish  a  harpoon  and  say  : — 

'•  We  compliment  you  on  the  taking  of  Azov  and  tender 
you  our  submission." 

He  admires  the  German  scholar  Vinnius,  attired  in  Roman 
mihtary  dress,  who  is  declaiming  Russian  verses  by  the  aid 
of  a  tube,  four  yards  long,  In  the  ranks,  side  by  side  with 
the  common  soldiers'  walks  a  bombardier  of  the  Preobra- 
zhensky  Regiment.  He  wears  a  dark  green  coat  with  red 
lapels  and  a  three-cornered  hat.   He  is  taller  than  the  rest, 


234  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

and  is  conspicuous  from  a  distance.  Alexis  knows  him  ta 
be  his  father,  but  his  face  is  so  youthful,  almost  childlike, 
that  he  seems  in  reahty  only  an  elder  brother,  a  dear  com- 
rade, a  little  boy  just  like  himself.  It  feels  very  stuffy  in 
the  carriage  among  the  downy  pillows  and  plump  nurses. 
He  longs  to  get  out  into  the  sunshine,  and  join  that  bright, 
curly-headed,    quick-eyed  boy. 

The  father  sees  his  son,  they  smile  at  one  another  and 
Alexis'  heart  beats  with  joy.  The  Tsar  approaches  the 
carriage  doors,  opens  them,  and  takes  his  son  almost  by 
force  from  the  grandmother's  arms,  amid  the  exclamations 
of  the  nurses— he  embraces  and  kisses  him  tenderly,  more 
tenderly  than  a  mother,  then  hfting  him  high  in  his  hands, 
he  shows  him  to  the  army  and  the  people,  and  finally 
placing  him  on  his  shoulders,  he  bears  him  aloft  above  the 
regiments.  At  first  quite  near,  then  further  and  further 
away,  across  the  sea  of  heads,  like  a  peal  of  thunder  rolled 
the  joyful  cry  from  thousands  of  voices  : 

"  Vivat,  vivat,  vivat  !  Long  live  the  Tsar  and  Tsdre- 
vitch !  " 

Alexis  feels  that  they  all  look  at  him,  that  all  love  him. 
He  feels  frightened  and  yet  happy.  He  holds  tightly  to  his 
father's  neck,  and  nestles  closer  to  him  ;  his  father  carries 
him  so  carefully  that  there  is  no  fear  he  will  drop  him.  And 
it  seems  to  him  that  his  father's  movements  are  his,  his 
father's  strength  his  too.  and  that  he  and  his  father  are  one. 
He  is  ready  to  laugh  and  cry,  so  joyful  are  the  shouts  of  the 
people,  the  roar  of  cannon,  the  chiming  of  bells,  the  golden 
cupolas,  the  blue  sky,  and  the  sun.  His  head  goes  round 
and  round,  he  is  short  of  breath,  he  seems  to  fly  straight  up 
into  the  sky,  towards  the  sun  ! 

He  sees  his  grandmother's  head  leaning  out  of  the  carriage 
window,  her  kind  old  wrinkled  face  looks  so  droll  and  yet 
so  dear  to  him.  She  beckons  with  her  hand  and  calls  out, 
beseeching  almost  in  tears  : 

"  Peter.  Peter,  dear,  don't  tire  Alexis  !  " 

And  again  his  nurses  put  him  to  bed,  and  cover  him  with 
a  golden  damask  quilt,  lined  with  the  softest  sable  ;  they 
fondle  and  caress  him  and  gently  stroke  his  feet,  to  make 
him  sleep  the  sweeter.  They  tuck  him  in  securely  against 
the  slightest  breeze.     As  one  guards  the  apple  of  the  eye,  so 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      235 

they  watched  over  him,  the  Tsar's  own  babe.  He  is  sechided, 
hke  a  fair  maiden,  behind  the  inevitable  curtains  which, 
when  he  goes  to  church,  surround  him  on  ah  sides  so  that 
no  one  should  see  the  Tsarevitch,  until  he  is"  proclaimed," 
according  to  an  ancient  custom,  and  after  his  proclamation 
people  will  flock  from  distant  parts  to  have  a  look  at  him, 
as  at  some  prodigy- 
It  is  close  in  the  low  terem  rooms  ;  the  doors,  shutters, 
windows,  stoppers,  all  are  carefully  nailed  round  with  felt 
to  exclude  the  least  draught.  The  floor  is  also  covered  with 
felt  for  "warmth  and  quiet."  The  glazed  stoves  are  over- 
heated. The  air  is  saturated  with  spirit  of  yarrow  and 
calamus,  which  is  added  to  the  fuel  "  for  scent."  The  day- 
light, penetrating  through  the  slanting  mica  panes,  changes 
to  a  yellow-amber.  Little  lamps  glimmer  everywhere 
before  the  images.  Alexis  feels  languid,  but  at  the  same 
time  happy  and  snug  ;  he  seems  to  be  ever  dozing  and  cannot 
wake.  He  dozes  listening  to  the  monotonous  conversations 
about  the  ordering  of  a  godly  household  :  everything  should 
be  kept  in  its  place,  clean,  swept,  secured  from  all  damage 
lest  it  might  rot  or  go  mouldy  ;  ever^'thing  should  be  kept 
locked  up,  and  not  open  to  theft  or  waste  ;  the  good  should 
receive  honour ;  and  severity  should  be  the  lot  of  the  evil 
doers  ;  and  how  to  be  careful  with  the  scraps,  how  to  twine 
bast  round  split  and  dried  fish,  how  to  preserv^e  different 
sorts  of  soaked  mushrooms  in  tubs,  and  how  to  maintain  an 
ardent  faith  hi  the  undivided  Trinity.  He  dozes  while 
listening  to  the  waihng  sounds  of  stringed  instruments 
played  by  blind  bards  who  are  chanting  old  legends,  and  to 
the  narratives  of  old  men  whose  tales  had  once  amused  his 
grandfather,  Tsar  Alexis  Michailovitch.  He  slumbers — and 
the  tales  of  pilgrims  and  mendicants  bring  him  vivid 
visions,  of  Mount  Athos,  pointed  like  a  fir-cone,  on  its  summit 
above  the  clouds,  stand  the  Holy  Virgin  spreading  her 
cloak  about  it  ;  of  Simeon  Stylites  who  allowed  his  body  to 
rot  till  it  was  alive  with  worms  ;  of  the  place  where  the 
earthly  Paradise  stood,  which  Moislav  of  Novgorod  had  seen 
afar  off  from  his  ship,  and  of  many  another  divine  wonder 
and  diabohc  suggpstion.  When  he  feels  dull,  by  order  ■  of 
his  grandmother  all  sorts  of  jesters,  orphan  girls,  Kalmuck 
women,  blackamoors  dance  before  him,  fight,  roll  on  the 


236  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

floor,  pull  at  one  another's  hair,  and  scratch  one  another. 
Or  again  his  grandmother  would  take  him  on  her  lap,  and 
begin  to  play  with  his  fingers,  touching  them  one  after 
another,  starting  from  the  thumb,  repeating  the  httle  nursery 
rhyme,  "  A  magpie  crow,  having  boiled  some  gruel,  hopped 
to  the  door  and  invited  his  guests.  She  gave  to  this  and 
she  gave  to  that  and  none  was  left  to  feed  the  last."  And 
then  she  would  tickle  him,  and  he  would  laugh  and  try  to 
shield  himself.  She  overfeeds  him  with  rich  pancakes, 
onion  patties,  "  levashnik,"  sour  apple  fritters  fried  in  nut 
oil,  gruel  boiled  in  poppyseed  milk,  white  gruel,  pears  and 
burrels  in  syrup. 

"  Eat !  Alexis,  eat,  it's  good  for  you,  my  treasure  !  " 
And  when  Alexis  suffered  from  stomach-ache  a  wise 
woman  would  be  summoned,  whose  incantations  were 
supposed  to  benefit  the  tender  young.  She  knew  herbs 
which  cure  internal  ailments  and  epileptic  fits.  Whenever 
Alexis  sneezed  or  coughed,  they  at  once  would  give  him 
raspberry  tea,  rub  him  with  camphorated  wine-spirit  or 
make  him  sweat  in  a  bath  prepared  with  althea. 

Only  on  the  hottest  days  is  he  taken  out  for  a  walk  in  the 
beautiful  "  Upper  Garden,"  laid  out  on  a  wooden  platform 
inside  the  Kremlin.  This  imitation  of  the  hanging  gardens 
is  a  continuation  of  the  Terem.  Here  everything  is  artifi- 
cial :  hothouse  flowers  in  boxes,  tiny  ponds  in  tubs,  and 
tame  birds  in  cages.  He  looks  down  and  forth  on  Moscow 
which  lies  spread  at  his  feet  ;  he  sees  streets  he  had  never 
been  in,  roofs,  towers,  belfries,  the  distant  town  beyond 
the  Moscow  stream,  the  bluish  outlines  of  the  Sparrow  hills, 
and  over  all  the  airy  gilded  clouds.  And  he  feels  weary  ; 
he  longs  to  get  out  of  the  Terem,  out  of  the  toy  garden  away 
to  real  forests,  fields  and  rivers,  away  into  the  unknown 
distance  ;  he  is  eager  to  run,  to  fly  like  the  swallows  whose 
flight  he  envies.  It  is  very  close  and  hea^'y.  The  hot- 
house flowers,  and  medicinal  herbs,  marjoram,  thyme, 
savory,  hyssop,  tansy,  fill  the  air  with  a  spicy  and  sickly 
perfume.  A  cloud  of  leaden  hue  creeps  slowly  up,  fast 
thronging  shadows  fall  around  him,  a  fresh  breeze  sweeps 
past  and  it  begins  to  rain.  He  stretches  out  his  face  and 
hands  and  greedily  tries  to  catch  the  drops,  while  his  nurses 
in  great  agitation  are  already  searching  for  him.. 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION     237 

"Alexis,  Alexis,  come  in,  child,  you'll  get  your  feet  wet." 
But  Alexis  does  not  heed  them  ;  he  hides  among  the 
sweet-briar  bushes.  The  air  is  now  filled  with  a  scent  of 
mint,  dill,  and  moist  earth  ;  the  foHage  glistens  in  its  fresh 
green,  the  double  peonies  glow  like  balls  of  fire.  A  last  ray 
of  sunshine  pierces  the  cloud,  and  the  sun  mingling  with 
the  rain  forms  one  tremulous  net  of  gold.  He  is  alread}^ 
wet  through.  Yet  he  delights  in  watching  the  heavy  drops 
break  into  radiant  dust,  as  they  splash  on  the  surface  of  the 
pools.  He  jumps,  skips,  and  sings  a  gay  song  to  the  patter 
of  the  rain,  which  resounds  in  the  hollow  vault  of  the  water 
tower — 

"  Cease,  gentle  rain, 
Lest  we  should  yearn  in  vain 
To  reach  the  river  Jordan's  banks 
And  bring  to  God  and  Christ  our  thanks  ! " 

Suddenly  right  above  his  head  a  blinding  flash  of  lightning 
burst  through  the  cloud,  the  thunder  rolled,  a  whirling  wind 
rose  and  died  away.  He  felt  again  the  same  mingled  sen- 
sation of  joy  and  fear  which  once  before  possessed  him,  when 
his  father  carried  him  shoulder  high  during  the  triumph  of 
the  Azov  campaign.  To  his  mind  came  the  bright  curly- 
headed,  quick-eyed  boy,  and  he  felt  his  father  loved  him  just 
in  the  same  way  as  he  loved  that  terrible  lightning.  His 
breath  came  quick  and  short,  he  was  delirious  with  joy.  He 
fell  on  his  knees  and  stretched  both  hands  towards  the  black 
sky,  fearing  and  yet  wishing  for  another  flash  more  awful 
and  more  blinding  ;  but  trembling  old  hands  already  catch 
hold  of  him,  carry  him  indoors,  undress  him  and  put  him  to 
bed  ;  he  is  rubbed  with  camphorated  wine-spirit  and  made 
to  drink  medicated  vodka  and  lime-tea,  until  he  sweats  seven 
times,  and  then  they  wrap  him  up  and  again  he  sleeps.  And 
he  dreams  about  that  terrible  slate  dragon,  who  lives  in  the 
"Stone  Mountains,"  and  has  a  maiden's  face,  a  serpent's 
mouth  and  nose,  and  the  feet  of  a  basilisk,  with  which  he 
breaks  the  iron  ;  he  can  only  be  caught  with  the  sound  of 
a  trumpet,  for  he  is  unable  to  bear  it,  and  when  its  blast 
rings  out,  he  pierces  his  ears  and  dies  shedding  a  blue  blood 
on  the  surrounding  stones.  Alexis  dreams  about  the  Siren, 
the  bird  of  Paradise,  singer  of  royal  songs,  denizen  of  Eden, 


238  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

who  tells  of  the  joys  which  the  Lord  has  in  store  for  the 
Righteous.  Not  every  one  in  the  flesh  can  hear  its  voice, 
those  who  do,  are  so  charmed  that  they  follow  its  lead  and 
pass  peaceably  away  listening  to  its  strains.  Alexis  be- 
lieves that  he  too  is  following  the  singing  Siren,  and  that 
while  listening  to  its  sweet  melodies  he  is  dying,  sinking 
into  eternal  slumber. 

Then  suddenly  it  seems  as  if  a  hurricane  swept  into  the 
room,  threw  open  the  door,  curtains,  hangings,  tore  the 
coverings  off  Alexis  and  sent  a  chill  over  him.  He  opened 
his  eyes  and  saw  his  father's  face.  He  was  not  in  the  least 
frightened,  not  even  surprised ;  he  seemed  to  have  known 
and  felt  that  he  would  come.  The  song  of  the  Siren  still 
ringing  in  his  ears,  with  a  sweet  half  dreamy  smile  he 
stretched  out  his  hands  and  cried,"  Daddy  !  daddy  darhng !  " 
and  threw  his  arms  round  his  father's  neck.  His  father 
embraces  and  hugs  him,  kissing  his  face,  neck,  naked  feet 
and  all  his  little  warm  sleepy  body.  His  father  had  brought 
him  from  abroad  a  clever  toy  ;  in  a  wooden  box  with  a 
glass  cover,  lo,  four  waxen  figures,  three  dressed  as  foreign 
women  and  one  as  a  child,  stand  before  a  mirror.  Under- 
neath is  fixed  a  bone  handle,  which  makes  the  women  and 
child  dance  to  a  tune.  Alexis  is  pleased  with  the  toy,  yet 
he  hardly  looks  at  it  :  his  father  absorbs  all  his  attention. 
He  soon  notices  a  change  in  his  father's  countenance. 
The  face  has  become  thin  and  gaunt ;  he  has  grown  more 
manly  and  seems  taller.  Yet  to  the  child's  gaze,  tall  as 
he  is,  he  still  remains  the  curly-headed  quick-eyed  boy  of 
old.     A  smell  of  wine  and  fresh  air  comes   from  him. 

"  Daddy's  moustache  is  showing  !  But  how  tiny  the 
hairs  are,  they  can  hardly  be  seen." 

And  with  curiosity  he  passes  his  little  fingers  over  the 
black  down  on  his  father's  lip. 

"  And  you  have  a  dimple  on  the  chin,  just  like  Granny  !  " 

He  kisses  it. 

"  Why  are  Daddy's  hands  so  hard  ?  " 

"  It  is  from  the  axe,  Alexis.  I  have  been  building  ships 
beyond  the  seas.  Wait  until  you  grow  up  and  I'll  take  you 
with  me!     Would  you  like  to  go  across  the  seas  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  would.  Where  daddy  goes,  I  would  like  to  go 
too.     I  want  to  be  with  daddy  always." 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      239 

"  And  are  you  not  sorry  for  granny  ?  " 

Here  Alexis  notices  in  the  half-open  door  the  frightened 
face  of  his  grandmother,  and  his  mother  with  a  deadly 
pallor  on  her  countenance.  They  both  watch  him  from 
that  distance,  afraid  to  come  nearer  ;  the}'  bless  him  and 
themselves  with  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  Yes,  I  am  sorry  for  granny,"  murmurs  Alexis,  and  at  the 
same  time  he  wonders  why  his  mother  is  not  mentioned. 

"  And  whom  do  you  love  most,  granny  or  me  ?  " 

Alexis  does  not  answer  immediately  ;  it  is  difficult  for 
him  to  decide.  Suddenly  clinging  closer  still  to  his  father, 
trembling  and  shrinking  in  shy  tenderness,  he  whispers  in 
his  ear  : — 

"  I  love  daddy,  love  him  more  than  any  one !  " 

And  suddenly  all  vanishes,  the  squat  Terem,  the  downy 
bed,  his  mother,  grandmother,  and  nurses,  He  seems  to 
have  fallen  into  some  dark  hole,  like  a  bird  from  its  nest,  on 
to  the  hard  frozen  earth.  He  is  in  a  large  cold  room  with 
bare  walls  and  iron-barred  windows.  He  no  longer  dozes. 
On  the  contrary  he  is  always  longing  for  sleep  ;  he  cannot 
get  enough,  he  is  roused  so  early.  Through  a  fog,  which 
makes  the  eyes  smart,  loom  long  barrack  buildings,  earthen 
ramparts  with  pyramids  of  shot,  nmzzles  of  cannon,  the 
Sokolinki  field  covered  with  grey  thawing  snow,  dotted  with 
wet  crows  and  ravens,  under  a  leaden  sky.  He  hears  the 
roll  of  the  drums,  the  drill  commands:  " 'Eyes,  front !  " 
"  Shoulder  arms  !  "  "  Present  arms  !  "  "  Right  turn  !  "  the  dry 
rattle  of  the  musketry  and  again  the  roll  of  the  drums. 
His  aunt,  the  Tsarevna  Natalia  Alexyevena,  is  with  him  ; 
an  old  maid  with  sallow  face,  bony  fingers  which  hurt  so 
in  pinching,  and  cross  piercing  eyes  which  seems  to  eat 
him  :     She  cries  : — 

"  O  scurvy  brat  of  thy  mother  !  " 

It  was  not  until  long  after  he  learnt  what  had  actually 
happened.  How  the  Tsar  on  his  return  from  Holland  had 
banished  his  wife,  the  Tsaritsa  Eudoxia,  to  a  nunnery, 
forcing  her  to  take  the  veil  under  the  name  of  Elena,  while  he 
removed  his  son  from  the  Kremlin  residence  to  the  new 
Potieshny  Palace  in  the  village  Preobrazhensky.  Side  by 
side  with  this  palace  were  the  torture-chambers  of  the  Privy 
Chancery,  where  the  trial  of  the  Streltsi  Mutiny  took  place. 


240  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

They  daily  burnt  more  than  thirty  wood  fires,  at  which  the 
rebels  were  tortured.  Was  his  remembrance  true  or  only 
a  nightmare  ?  He  could  no  longer  tell.  It  was  as  if  he  were 
stealing  along  the  huge  pointed  pWes  of  the  wall  which 
surrounded  the  prison  ;  groans  issue  from  within,  a  streak 
of  light  reveals  a  chink  in  the  log-bui't  wall.  He  put  his  eye 
to  the  hole  and  saw  a  veritable  hell  : — 

Hot  fires  are  bvirning, 
Caul  Irons  are  steaming, 
Knives  are  heinr  sharpened, 
All  to  butcher  thee  ! 

Human  bodies  are  actually  roasting  over  the  fires  ;  they 
are  slung  on  a  post  and  so  stretched  that  their  joints  crack  ; 
their  ribs  are  broken  with  red-hot  tongs,  and  their  nails  are 
scraped  with  red-hot  needles.  The  Tsar  is  among  the 
torturers.  His  face  is  so  terrible  that  Alexis  can  hardly 
recognize  him— himself  and  yet  not  himself,  rather  his 
double,  his  "  were-wolf."  He  is  examining  one  of  the  ring- 
leaders, who  in  stubborn  silence  endures  all.  His  body 
already  resembles  a  bloody  carcase  from  which  the  butchers 
had  torn  off  the  skin,  yet  he  remains  dumb  and  looks 
defiantly  straight  into  the  Tsar's  eyes. 


The  boy  Alexis  swooned  ;  soldiers  found  him  in  the 
morning  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  wall  close  to  the  moat.  He 
lay  unconscious  for  many  days. 

He  had  hardly  recovered,  when  by  command  of  the  Tsar 
he  had  to  be  present  at  the  dedication  of  the  I.efort  Palace 
to  Bacchus.  He  wears  a  new  German  coat  with  stiff  wired 
folds,  and  a  huge  wig  which  oppresses  him.  His  aunt  is  in  a 
gorgeous  "  robe  ronde  ;  they  are  in  a  separate  room, 
adjacent  to  the  Banqueting  Hall.  Damask  curtains,  the 
last  remnant  of  the  Terem  seclusion,  hide  them,  from  the 
guests.  Yet  Alexis  sees  all  that  goes  on  among  the  members 
of  "  The  Most  Drunken  Convocation,"  whose  insignia  were 
cups  of  wine,  flagons  of  mead  and  beer,  instead  of  the  Holy 
Vessels  ;  in  place  of  the  Gospels,  a  case  shaped  like  a  Bible 
containing  different  vodkas  ;  for  incense,  tobacco  smoulder- 
ing in  braziers.     The  high  priest,  the  Kniaz-Pope,  attired 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      241 

in  mock  vestments  imitating  those  of  a  patriarch,  trimmed 
with  playing  cards  and  dice,  with  a  pewter  mitre  on  his  head 
crowned  by  a  naked  Bacchus,  and  in  his  hand  a  staff  decor- 
ated with  a  naked  Venus,  blesses  the  guests  with  two  pipes 
folded  on  the  cross.  The  orgy  begins.  The  buffoons  revile 
the  aged  boyars  ;  punching  them,  spitting  in  their  faces, 
spilling  wine  over  them,  pulling  their  hair,  cutting  their 
beards  or  plucking  them  out  bj^  the  roots.  The  revelry 
degenerates  into  an  inquisition.  As  in  some  terrible  night- 
mare Alexis  beholds  all  this.  And  again  he  cannot  recognise 
his  father  ;  rather  it  is  his  father's  double,  his  evil  genius  ! 

"  His  Serene  Highness,  the  Tsarevitch  Alexis,  beginning 
with  the  alphabet,  and  having  in  a  short  time  mastered  it, 
now,  following  the  order  of  instructions,  is  learning  the 
breviary,"  thus  reported  to  the  Tsar  the  tutor  Nikita 
Viasemski,  "  his  lowliest  slave." 

It  was  according  to  the  Domostroi  that  he  taught  Alexis 
how  to  approach  sacred  things  ;  the  way  to  kiss  wonder- 
working icons,  and  relics,  taking  heed  not  to  moisten  them 
with  lips,  nor  to  tarnish  them  with  the  breath,  for  the  Lord 
dislikes  our  dirt  and  breath  ;  how  to  eat  the  holy  loaf  with- 
out scattering  crumbs  on  the  ground,  or  biting  it  with  the 
teeth  like  other  bread,  but  breaking  it  into  little  pieces  put 
them  one  by  one  into  the  mouth  and  so  eat  in  faith  and  fear. 
Listening  to  these  instructions  of  his  tutor,  Alexis  could 
not  help  recalling  how  this  same  tutor  at  the  Lefort  Palace 
amongst  the  buffoons,  in  a  drunken  frenzy  was  used  to 
dance  before  the  foreign  courtesan  Mons,  whistling  and 
singing. 

The  learned  Geman,  Baron  Huissen,  presented  a  "  Metho- 
dus  instructionis  "  to  the  Tsar.  '  A  syllabus  to  which  he 
who  shall  be  instructed  with  the  education  of  the  Tsarevitch 
must  conform."  "  In  his  feeUngs  and  heart,  at  all  times 
implant  and  strengthen  love  for  virtue ;  also  strive  to 
inculcate  in  him  disgust  and  repulsion  for  all  that  is  called 
sin  before  God ;  adequately  represent  the  heavy  consequences 
that  result  from  it,  and  exemplify  by  application  from 
Holy  Writ  and  profane  history." 

"  Also  instruct  in  the  French  language,  which  cannot  be 
done  better  than  by  daily  use.     Show  coloured  geographical 

Q 


242  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

maps.  Gradually  accustom  to  the  use  of  the  compasses, 
and  indicate  the  importance  and  utility  of  geometry. 
Commence  the  prehminary  military  exercises,  storming, 
dancing,  and  riding.  Develop  a  good  Russian  style.  Dili- 
gently read  on  all  mail  days  the  French  newspapers  and  the 
'  Historical  Mercury,'  and  present  political  and  moral  reflec- 
tions thereon.  Always  use  '  Fenelon's  Telemachus,'  in  the 
instructions  of  his  Highness,  as  a  mirror  and  guide  for  his 
future  governmiCnt.  And  to  prevent  weariness  by  continual 
work  and  instructions,  use  for  diversion  in  a  moderate 
measure  the  game  '  Truktafel.'  This  scheme  can  easily 
be  completed  in  two  j^ears,  and  then  his  Highness  without 
delay  may  proceed  to  perfect  himiself  in  general  knowledge, 
so  that  he  may  be  equipped  for  the  thorough  study  of  the 
world's  pohtics,  the  real  needs  of  this  empire,  all  the  useful 
sciences  such  as  fortification,  artillery,  civic  architecture, 
navigation,  and  soon,  to  his  Majesty's  complete  satisfaction 
and  his  Highness's  own  immortal  glory."  To  carry  out  this 
programme  they  chanced  to  hit  upon  a  certain  worthy 
named  Martin  Neubauer.  He  taught  Alexis  the  rules  of 
"  European  Comphments  and  Politeness,"  from  a  book 
entitled  "  The  Youth's  Mirror  of  Honour." 

"  Children  must,  above  all,  greatly  honour  their  father. 
"When  a  son  receives  instructions  from  his  father,  he  should 
always  stand  hat  in  hand,not  in  the  same  line  with  his  father 
but  a  little  behind  to  one  side,  like  a  page  or  servant.  When 
a  son  meets  his  father  he  ought  to  stop  at  a  distance  of  three 
paces  ;  take  off  his  hat  and  greet  him  in  an  agreeable  man- 
ner. It  is  better  to  be  accounted  a  gracious  cavalier,  than 
a  proud  blockhead.  Do  not  lean  on  tables  or  benches, 
like  a  peasant  who  delights  to  lounge  in  the  sun.  Youths 
must  not  sniff  with  their  noses,  nor  blink  with  their  eyes. 
And  this  also  is  no  small  nuisance,  to  blow  one's  nose  like  a 
trumpet  or  sneeze  loudly,  and  so  startle  people  or  frighten 
young  children  at  church.  Keep  your  nails  cut  and  don't 
let  them  suggest  a  velvet  border.  Behave  well  at  table, 
sit  upright ;  do  not  pick  your  teeth  with  a  knife,  but  with  a 
tooth-pick,  and  cover  the  mouth  with  your  hand  during 
the  operation.  Don't  munch  over  your  food  like  a  pig ; 
don't  scratch  your  head,  for  even  so  do  the  peasants. 
Youths  should  always  converse  in  foreign  tongues  among 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      243 

themselves  to  gain  a  ready  fluency,  and  also  the  better 
to  distinguish  themselves  from  the  ignorant." 

Thus  droned  into  his  august  pupil's  ear  on  one  side  the 
German ;  while  from  the  other  the  Russian  repeated  : — 
"  Don't  spit  to  the  right,  Alexis,  for  that  is  your  angel's  side  ; 
always  spit  to  the  left,  where  Satan  is.  In  dressing  don't 
begin  with  your  left  foot,  it  is  a  sin.  Carefully  keep  the 
parings  of  your  nails  in  paper,  to  climb  Zion's  Hill  with  on 
your  way  to  Heaven." 

The  German  tutor  sneered  at  the  Russian  and  the 
Russian  laughed  at  the  Germian,  and  Alexis  knew  not  whom 
to  beUeve.  The  touchy  student,  a  burgher's  son  from 
Dant2ic,  hated  Russia.  "  What  language  is  this  ?  "  he  used 
to  say.  "  It  has  neither  rhetoric  nor  grammar.  The  Russian 
priests  are  themselves  incapable  of  explaining  what  they 
read  in  the  churches ;  only  darkness  and  ignorance  results 
from  the  Russian  language."  He  was  generally  drunk,  and 
in  that  state  his  diatribes  increased. 

"You  know  nothing,  you  are  all  barbarians!  Dogs! 
dogs !  rogues ! ' ' 

The  Russian  mockingly  called  the  German  "  Martin 
Marmoset,"  and  informed  the  Tsar  that  instead  of  instructing 
the  Tsarevitch  he,  Martin,  set  his  Highness  a  bad  example  ; 
creating  in  him  a  repugnance  for  learning  and  a  horror  of  all 
foreigners.  To  Alexis  both  the  Russian  and  German  tutors 
were  equally  humbugs. 

Sometimes  Martin  would  weary  him  to  such  an  extent 
during  the  day  that  even  at  night  in  his  dreams  he  would 
come  to  him  in  the  shape  of  a  learned  ape,  which  grimaced 
according  to  the  rules  of  "  European  Compliments  and 
Politeness  "  in  front  of  "  The  Youth's  Mirror  of  Honour." 
Around  stood  the  figures  from  the  Golden  Hall,  Moscow's 
ancient  Tsars,  patriarchs  and  saints.  The  ape  mocked  and 
railed  at  them,  "  Dogs!  dogs!  rogues!  None  of  you  know 
anything,  you  are  all  barbarians!"  And  Alexis  seemed  to 
discern  a  hkeness  between  this  monkey  face  and  another 
disfigured  by  convulsions,  belonging  not  to  the  Tsar,  but  to 
that  awful  double  of  his,  the  were-wolf,  his  evil  genius.  And 
Alexis  felt  the  shaggy  paw  stretched  out  to  grasp  him  and 
drag  him  away. 

And  again  the  scene  changed.     Now  it  is  the  very  end 


244  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

of  the  world,  a  flat  seashore,  bogs  with  mossy  hillocks,  a 
pale  lurid  sun,  and  a  low  hanging  oppressive  sky.  All  is 
misty,  phantomlike,  and  he  himself  seems  but  a  phantom, 
who  dead  long  ago,  has  descended  into  the  realm  of  shadows. 

At  the  age  of  thirteen  the  Tsarevitch  joined  the  bom- 
bardier regiment  and  took  part  in  the  Noteburg  campaign. 
From  Noteburg  to  Ladoga,  from  Ladoga  to  Jamburg, 
Koporie  and  Narva  he  was  dragged  everywhere  with  the 
baggage  waggon  and  train  to  familiarise  him  with  military 
life.  Although  but  a  child,  he  shared  dangers,  privations, 
cold,  hunger  and  weariness  with  the  men.  He  saw  the 
bloodshed,  squalor  and  all  the  horrors  and  abominations  of 
warfare.  He  caught  glimpses  of  his  father  from  afar  ;  and 
every  time  he  beheld  him,  his  heart  beat  in  wild  anticipation, 
he  might  come  to  him,  he  might  call  for  him,  he  might 
caress  him.  Just  one  word  or  a  look  and  Alexis  would  have 
been  roused  to  new  hfe  and  have  understood  what  was 
expected  from  him.  But  his  father  had  no  time  to  s{)are ; 
his  hand  was  ever  occupied,  now  with  a  sword,  now  a  quiJ, 
now  a  compass,  now  an  axe.  He  waged  M'ar  against  the 
Swedes,  and  at  the  same  time  he  was  pile-driving  for  the 
first  dwellings  at  Petersburg. 
"  My  gracious  Lord  Father, — 

"  I  pray  thee  grant  me  a  favour  and  let  me  be  informed  by 
letter  for  my  joy,  about  thy  health,  of  which  I  always 
anxiously  desire  to  hear. 

"  Thy  son  Alexis  invokes  thy  blessing  and  presents  his 
homage. 

"Written  in  Petersburg,  August  25,  1703." 

He  dared  not  add  a  single  genuine  word,  whether  of 
endearment  or  complaint,  to  the  letters  dictated  by  his 
tutor.  He  grew  up  a  cowed,  timid,  lonely  boy,  like  a  weed 
in  the  moat  round  the  arsenal  wall. 

Narva  had  been  stormed.  The  Tsar  celebrated  the  victory 
by  reviewing  his  troops  with  music  and  salutes  from  the 
guns.  In  front  stood  the  Tsarevitch,  watching  the  young 
giant  with  his  bright  awe-inspiring  face  coming  towards 
him,  no  longer  his  double,  his  evil  genius,  but  himself,  his 
own  dear  father,  The  boy's  heart  beat  quicker,  and  again 
it  throbbed  with  eager  hope  ;  their  eyes  met,  and  it  was  as 
if  a  lightning  flash  had  bhnded  Alexis.     His  desire  had  been 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      245 

to  rush  to  meet  his  father,  to  throw  his  arms  round  his  neck, 
embrace  him,  kiss  him  in  a  paroxysm  of  joy. 

But  sharp  and  decisive,  like  the  rattle  of  the  drum,  were  the 
words  that  greeted  him,  words  so  familiar  in  rescripts  and 
articles. 

"  Son,  the  reason  I  took  you  with  me  on  this  campaign 
was  to  show  you  that  I  shrink  from  neither  toil  nor  dangers. 
Being  only  mortal  and  liable  to  be  summoned  this  day  or 
to-morrow,  I  charge  you  to  remember  that  you  shall  taste 
little  joy  if  you  shun  to  follow  my  example.  Shun  no  toil 
for  the  common  weal !  But  should  you  cast  my  advice  to 
the  wind,  and  refuse  to  do  as  I  bid  you,  then  T  will  deny  you 
as  my  son,  and  will  implore  God  to  punish  you  in  this  life 
and  the  life  to  come." 

The  father  takes  hold  of  the  boy's  chin  between  his  two 
fingers  and  looks  intently  into  his  eyes.  A  cloud  passes 
over  Peter's  face.  He  seems  to  see  his  son,  such  as  he 
really  is,  for  the  first  time  :  this  weakly  lad  with  sloping 
shoulders  and  narrow  chest,  with  his  stubborn  and  morose 
looks — is  he  indeed  his  only  son,  the  heir  of  the  throne,  with 
whom  the  culmination  of  all  his  schemes  and  toil  will  rest  ? 
Can  it  be  ?  Whence  came  this  puny  starveling,  this  raven, 
into  the  eagle's  nest  ?  How  could  he  be  the  father  of 
such  a  son  ? 

Alexis  shrank  into  himself  and  strove  to  efface  himself, 
as  if  he  guessed  his  father's  tfioughts,  and  was  guilty  before 
him  of  some  crime  unknown  and  irreparable.  He  felt  so 
ashamed  and  terrified  that  he  was  ready  to  burst  out  crying 
like  a  child  before  the  assembled  army.  But  mastering 
himself  with  a  supreme  effort,  he  uttered  in  a  trembhng 
voice  the  salutation  he  had  been  made  to  learn. 

"  Most  gracious  Lord  Father,  I  am  very  young  at  present 
and  do  what  I  can,  but  your  Majesty  may  be  assured  that, 
as  a  dutiful  son,  I  will  strive  with  all  my  might  to  imitate 
your  actions  and  example.  May  God  keep  you  for  many 
years  to  come  in  perfect  health  and  thus  grant  that  I  may 
long  continue  in  the  enjoyment  of  so  illustrious  a  parent!  " 

And  then,  according  to  the  instructions  of  Martin,  uncover- 
ing his  head  in  an  agreeable  manner,  like  a  gracious  cavalier, 
he  makes  a  German  bow,  saying  : — 

"Meines    gnadigsten    Papas    gehorsamster    Diener  und 


246  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Sohn."  He  knew  he  looked  like  a  puny,  deformed,  silly 
monkey,  in  front  of  this  giant,  handsome  as  a  young  god. 
The  father  proffers  his  hand,  the  son  kisses  it.  Tears  burst 
from  the  boy's  eyes,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  father 
feeling  the  warm  tears  pulls  away  his  hand  in  disgust. 

At  the  triumphal  entry  into  ^loscow  on  December  17, 1704, 
to  celebrate  the  Narva  victory,  the  Tsarevitch  marched 
with  the  Preobrazhensky  regiment  shouldering  his  gun 
like  a  common  soldier.  The  frost  was  intense.  The  boy 
was  nearly  starved  to  death  with  the  cold.  In  the  palace 
at  the  usual  orgies  he  drank  a  glass  of  vodka  to  warm  him- 
self, and  at  once  became  drunk.  His  head  went  round, 
it  grew  dark,  blurred  red  and  green  circles  danced  before  his 
eyes  ;  only  one  thing  he  saw  clearly,  the  face  of  his  father 
who  was  looking  at  him  with  a  disdainful  smile.  Alexis  was 
cut  to  the  quick.  He  got  up  and  with  unsteady  steps, 
lurched  towards  his  father;  he  looked  at  him  furtively  like 
a  young  wolf  at  bay,  tried  to  say  something,  but  suddenly 
turned  pale,  shrieked,  staggered  forward  and  fell  at  his 
father's  feet. 


CHAPTER    III 

"  A  LREADY  my  earthly  life  is  drawing  to  a  close  :  my 
jfjL  voice  is  going,  I  am  growing  deaf  and  blind.  I 
beseech  you  to  relieve  me  from  my  office  of  sacristan,  grant 
me  permission  to  end  my  days  in  a  monastery !  " 

The  Tsarevitch,  lost  in  dream-memories,  scarcely  noticed 
the  monotonous  wail  of  Father  John,  who  returning  from 
his  cell  sat  down  beside  him  on  the  bench. 

"  My  small  house,  chattels  and  superfluous  furniture, 
could  be  sold;  my  two  orphaned  nieces  placed  in  some 
nunnery,  and  the  little  money  I  have  scraped  together,  I 
would  bring  as  my  gift  to  the  monastery.  Thus  I  would 
not  live  on  the  bounty  of  others  ;  and  my  offerings  might 
be  acceptable  to  God,  like  the  two  mites  of  the  widow. 
Then  I  might  live  for  a  little  while  in  silence  and  repentance, 
until  God  wills  to  take  me  from  this  into  eternal  life.  I 
feel  that  I  have  reached  the  end  of  my  span,  for  even  so  did 
my  parent  die  at  the  same  age ' 

Awakening,  as  from  a  deep  slumber,  the  Tsarevitch  saw 
it  was  night.  The  white  church  towers,  tinged  with  palest 
blue,  more  than  ever  suggested  gigantic  flowers,  huge  lilies 
of  paradise  ;  the  golden  domes  shone  silvery  in  heaven's 
dark  blue  vault,  studded  with  stars.  The  Milky  Way  glim- 
mered but  faintly.  And  the  fresh  breezes  of  heaven,  even 
as  the  breathing  of  a  slumberer,  seemed  to  bring  with  them 
from  the  heavens  a  foreboding  of  eternal  rest,  and  unbroken 
quietude.  The  slow  murmuring  words  of  Father  John 
mingled  with  the  stillness  : — 

"  Give  me  but  leave  to  go  to  my  resting  place,  a  holy 
monastery,  and  let  me  live  in  silence  until  the  time  that  I 
shall  be  taken  hence " 

He  continued  to  mumble  for  some  time,  stopped,  again 
resumed,  went  away  ;  and  soon  returning  called  the  Tsare- 

247 


248  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

vitch  to  supper.  Alexis  had  again  closed  his  eyes  and  fallen 
into  that  dark  dreamy  abode,  where  twixt  sleep  and  waking 
hover  the  shadows  of  the  past.  Again  memories,  visions, 
image  after  image  passed  before  him,  like  a  long  chain,  link 
after  link  ;  above  them  all  towered  one  awe  inspiring  image, 
his  Father.  And  as  a  wanderer  looking  back  at  night  from 
a  summit  beholds  in  a  flash  of  lightning  all  the  road  he  has 
traversed,  so  the  relentless  light  from  that  figure  laid  bare 
his  whole  life. 

:)c  :(c  :):  :)c  :|i 

He  is  seventeen,  at  the  age  when  in  olden  days  the  Tsare- 
vitch  was  proclaimed  to  the  people,  who  would  flock  from 
all  parts  to  gaze  at  him,  as  at  some  wonder.  But  on  Alexis 
a  man's  toil  is  imposed,  too  heavy  for  his  young  strength  ; 
he  is  perpetually  travelling  from  town  to  town,  buying 
provisions  for  the  army,  felling  and  despatching  timber  for 
the  fleet,  printing  books,  casting  cannon,  writing  ukases, 
levying  armies,  searching  for  young  deserters  under  penalty 
of  death — himself  only  a  lad  relentessly  executing  the  law 
on  those  of  his  own  age  ;  he  supervises  everything  to  pre- 
vent defalcations  of  any  kind. 

He  hurries  from  German  declensions  to  fortifications, 
from  garrisons  to  orgies  ;  from  orgies  to  deserters,  until  his 
brain  is  in  a  whirl.  The  more  he  attempts  the  more  is  de- 
manded. He  has  neither  leisure  nor  rest.  He  feels  ready 
to  drop  like  an  over-ridden  hack.  And  at  the  same  time 
he  knows  that  his  efforts  are  all  in  vain ;  it  is  impossible 
for  him  ever  to  please  his  father. 

At  the  same  time  he  continues  his  studies,  as  if  he  were  a 
schoolboy.  "  Two  weeks  shall  be  devoted  to  the  German 
language,  to  master  well  the  declensions,  and  then  atten- 
tion shall  be  given  to  French  and  arithmetic.  Instruction 
to  take  place  each  day." 

At  last  his  strength  gave  way.  During  the  severe  frost 
in  January  1709,  he  was  bringing  to  his  father,  then  at  Suma 
in  the  Ukrine,  five  regiments  from  Moscow  which  he 
had  himself  levied  and  which  were  destined  to  take  part 
in  the  battle  of  Poltava.  On  the  journey  he  caught  cold, 
fell  ill,  and  lay  for  weeks  insensible.  His  life  was  despaired 
of. 

He  regained  consciousness  one  sunny  morning,  early  in 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      249 

spring.  Slanting  rays  of  sunlight  flooded  the  room.  Snow 
was  lying  outside,  wet  drops  hung  already  on  the  icicle  tips. 
Brooks  were  murmuring  on  their  way,  and  from  the  sky  the 
lark  showered  his  song  in  melodious  strains.  Alexis  sees 
his  father's  face  bent  over  him,  the  one  so  dear  to  him  in 
years  gone  by,  a  face  full  of  tenderness. 

"  My  son,  my  love,  do  you  feel  better  ?  " 

Too  weak  to  answer  Alexis  can  but  smile. 

"  Well,  glory  and  thanks  be  to  God ! "  exclaims  his 
father  piously.  "  The  Lord  hath  shown  mercy  upon  me 
and  heard  my  prayer.     Now  you  will  soon  be  well  !  " 

Alexis  was  told  later  that  his  father  never  left  him  during 
the  whole  of  his  illness.  Neglecting  all  other  work,  he  had 
spent  night  after  night  without  sleep.  When  the  patient 
grew  worse,  he  ordered  the  celebration  of  mass  and  made 
a  vow  to  erect  a  church  in  the  name  of  "  St.  Alexis,  the  men 
of  God." 

Then  came  the  slow  joyful  days  of  convalescence.  To 
Alexis  his  father's  caresses  were  as  health-giving  as  We 
warm  bright  sunshine.  In  blissful  lassitude,  with  a  pleasur- 
able weakness  in  his  body,  he  would  he  the  whole  daykrg 
without  moving.  He  was  never  tired  of  looking  at  his  father's 
grand  open  countenance,  his  bright,  fierce  yet  tender  eyes, 
and  the  charming,  shghtly  cunning  smile  on  those  finely- 
curved  lips.  The  father  could  not  do  enough  to  show  his 
love  to  Alexis.  Once  he  brought  him  a  small  snuff-box 
carved  by  himself  out  of  ivory,  with  the  inscription,  "  A 
small  gift,  but  from  a  loving  heart."  Many  a  year  the 
Tsarevitch  had  kept  it,  and  every  time  he  looked  at  it,  some- 
thing burning,  poignant,  akin  to  measureless  pity  for  his 
father  would  surge  up  within  him. 

Another  time  while  gently  caressing  his  son's  hair,  Peter 
said  in  a  timid  shy  voice,  as  if  excusing  himself,  "If  ever  I 
said  or  did  anything  that  hurt  you,  for  God's  sake  rem.ember 
it  no  longer  and  do  not  sorrow  over  it.  Forgive  me,  Alexis  ! 
Petty  annoyances  are  sufficient  to  arouse  anger  in  an  arduous 
life,  and  my  life  is  indeed  hard.  I  have  no  one  to  cons;  It, 
not  even  a  single  helper." 

Alexis,  as  in  the  days  of  his  childhood,  threw  his  arm 
round  his  father's  neck  and  all  trembling  and  melting  m 
shy  tenderness  whispered  in  his  ear  : — 


250  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  Daddy  darling,  I  love  you  :   I  love  you  !  " 

But  in  proportion  as  he  returned  to  health,  so  his  father 
once  more  receded  from  him.  There  seemed  to  be  a  merci- 
less fate  upon  them  both,  to  be  companions  and  yet  stran- 
gers ;  secretly  loving,  while  openly  estranged  and  hating  one 
another. 

And  again  all  things  fell  back  into  the  old  ruts  :  the 
collection  of  provisions,  detection  of  deserters,  casting  of 
cannon,  felling  of  timber,  building  battlements,  wandering 
from  town  to  town.  Again  Alexis  toiled  like  a  convict  and 
his  father  remained  as  ever  dissatisfied,  even  suspectmg  his 
son  of  laziness,  "  leaving  off  work,  running  after  idleness." 
Sometimes  Alexis  would  like  to  remind  him  of  what  hap- 
pened at  Suma,  but  he  could  never  bring  himself  to  do  it. 

"  Son,  we  instruct  you  to  depart  for  Dresden.  During 
your  sojourn  in  that  city  we  command  you  to  live  hon- 
estly and  apply  yourself  diligently  to  studies  :  especially 
languages,  geometry  and  fortification,  and  o.lso  partly  to 
pohtical  science.  And  inform  us  by  letter  when  geometry 
and  fortification  have  been  successfully  acquired." 

Abroad  the  Tsarevitch  hved  like  an  exile,  neglected  by 
everyone.  His  father  again  forgot  his  existence  ;  he  did  not 
remember  him  save  when  he  wanted  to  marry  him  to  Prin- 
cess Charlotte  of  Wolfenbiittel.  The  Tsarevitch  had  no 
liking  for  his  bride  ;  he  had  no  wish  whatever  to  marry  a 
foreigner.  "  Why  did  they  force  this  devil  of  a  wife  on 
me?  "  he  used  to  cry  out  when  flushed  with  wine. 

Before  the  nuptials  he  had  to  conduct  humiliating  negotia- 
tions about  his  bride's  dowry.  Peter  was  eager  to  squeeze 
as  much  money  as  possible  out  of  the  Germans. 

Six  months  after  his  marriage  Alexis  left  his  wife  for 
another  tour  :  from  Stettin  to  Mecklenburg,  from  Mecklen- 
burg to  Abo,  from  Abo  to  Novgorod,  from  Novgorod  to 
Ladoga — again  interminable  fatigue,  interminable  fears. 

The  dread  he  felt  before  each  interview  with  his  father 
developed  into  a  nervous  terror.  Approaching  the  door  of 
his  father's  room  he  would  mutely  repeat  a  prayer  :  "  Re- 
member, O  God,  King  David  and  all  his  humility  !  "  he 
would  jerk  out  disconnected  fragments  of  lessons  on  naviga- 
tion, it  being  beyond  his  power  to  remember  the  barbarous 
terminology  of  such  words  as  .  "  krup-kamer,  balk-vegerse. 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      251 

haigen-blok  (anchor-stock),"  and  he  would  fumble  for  his 
amulet,  the  gift  of  his  nurse,  a  blade  of  grass  embedded  in 
wax,  with  a  paper  bearing  an  ancient  charm  to  soften  the 
anger  of  a  father : — 

"  On  a  momentous  day  was  I  born.  I  fenced  myself 
with  iron,  and  went  unto  my  father.  My  parent  became 
wrathful,  began  to  break  my  bones,  to  pinch  my  body,  to 
trample  on  me  with  his  feet,  and  drink  my  blood.  Bright 
sun,  clear  stars,  still  sea,  ripe  fields  !  Ye  all  stand  peaceful 
and  still.  May  my  father  throughout  all  his  hours  and 
days,  his  nights  and  midnights,  be  as  quiet  and  still  as 
ye!  " 

"  Well,  my  son,  I  must  say  this  is  a  first-rate  fortress," 
said  his  father  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  looking  at  his 
son's  plan.  "You  have  apparently  learnt  a  great  deal 
abroad." 

Alexis  grew  only  more  confused,  and  winced  like  a  guilty 
schoolboy  before  the  rod. 

To  escape  such  torture  at  times  he  used  to  take  medicine 
and  "  feign  illness." 

Terror  was  merging  into  hatred. 

Just  before  the  Pruth  campaign,  Peter  fell  seriously  ill, 
"  he  did  not  expect  to  live."  When  the  news  reached  Alexis 
he  experienced  for  the  first  time  a  feeling  of  pleasure  at 
the  possible  death  of  his  father.  This  joy  frightened  him; 
he  banished  it  but  could  not  destroy  it  ;  it  hid  itself  at  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  ready  to  spring  forth  Hke  a  lurking  beast. 

One  day  at  a  feast  when  Peter,  as  was  his  wont,  made  his 
drunken  guests  quarrel  with  one  another  so  that  he  might 
learn  from  their  recriminations  the  thoughts  of  those 
around  him,  Alexis,  also  drunk,  began  to  talk  about  the 
state  of  the  empire,  and  the  oppression  of  the  people. 
All  grew  silent,  even  the  buffoons  stopped  their  shouting. 
The  Tsar  listened  attentively.  Alexis'  heart  was  beating 
with  hope,  what  if  he  were  heard  ?    understood  ? 

"  Enough  of  this  nonsense  !  "  the  Tsar  stopped  him 
suddenly  with  that  mocking  smile,  so  familiar  and  hateful  to 
Alexis.  "  I  perceive,  my  boy,  that  you  know  as  much  about 
political  and  civic  affairs  as  a  bear  does  of  a  hand-organ." 

And  turning  aside  Peter  signed  to  the  fools  to  resume 
their  shouting.    Menshikov  with  other  nobles,  all  drunk. 


252  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

began  to  dance.  The  Tsarevitch  continued  to  speak  in  a 
high-pitched  voice.  But  his  father,  paying  him  no 
attention,  was  stamping,  clapping  and  whistUng  to  the 
dancers  : — 

"Tare-bare,  rastobare  f 
White  snow  was  falling, 
Grey  hares  were  running. 
Hurry  !   hurry  up  !  " 

His  face  was  that  of  a  soldier,  unrefined,  the  rugged  face 
of  him  who  wrote  :  "  The  enemy  received  such  good  treat- 
ment from  us  that  only  a  few  infants  survived." 

Suddenly  Prince  Menshikov,  breathless  with  dancing, 
stopped  short  before  the  Tsarevitch,  his  hands  on  his  hips 
and  on  his  lips  an  impertinent  smile — a  reflection  of  the 
Tsar's. 

"  Tsarevitch,"  he  cried,  pronouncing  the  word,  so  that 
it  meant  an  insult,  "  Tsarevitch,  why  are  you  melancholy  ? 
Come,  join  our  dance  !  " 

Alexis  grew  pale  and  seized  his  sword,  then  bethought 
himself,  and  turned  aside  ejaculating  : — 

"  Rapscallion  !  " 

"  What  ?     What  did  you  say,  puppet  ?  " 

Alexis  turned  round  and,  looking  him  straight  in  the  face, 
said  in  a  loud  voice  : — 

"  I  said,  '  Rapscallion  !  '  A  rascal's  look  is  worse  than 
defilement  !  " 

At  the  same  moment  his  father's  face,  contorted, 
flashed  before  him.  He  struck  his  son  so  hard  in  the 
face  that  the  blood  gushed  from  mouth  and  nose  ;  then 
he  caught  him  by  the  throat,  threw  him  on  the  ground  and 
began  to  strangle  him.  The  senior  nobles,  Romadonovski, 
Sheremetiev,  Dolgoriiki,  who  were  authorized  by  the  Tsar 
himself  to  restrain  him  in  his  attacks  of  madness,  fell  upon 
Peter,  seized  him,  and  dragged  him  away  from  his  son,  lest 
he  should  murder  him. 

"  In  order  to  give  satisfaction  "  to  Menshikov,  the 
Tsarevitch  was  sent  from  the  hall  and  placed  on  sentry  duty 
at  the  doors  like  a  naughty  schooll)oy  who  is  sent  into  the 
corner.  It  was  a  cold  winter's  night,  frosty  and  snowing  : 
he  had  only  his  kaftan  on,  and  no  fur  coat.     Tears  and 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      253 

blood  froze  on  his  face.  The  wind  moaned  and  whirled 
round  and  round,  like  a  drunkard  dancing  and  singing. 
And  behind  the  lighted  windows,  in  the  room  he  had  left, 
that  old  buffoon,  the  drunken  princess-abbess  Rshevsky  was 
also  dancing  and  singing.  The  wild  moans  of  the  storm 
mingled  with  the  wild  strains  of  the  song  : — 

My  mother  bore  me  wh  le  she  danced, 
She  christened  me  in  the  Tsar's  tavern, 
And  bathed  me  in  the  headiest  wine. 

Such  anguish  filled  Alexis  that  he  felt  like  braining  himself 
against  the  wall. 

Suddenly  some  one  crept  up  to  him  in  the  dark  and, 
throwing  a  fur-lined  coat  round  his  shoulder,  fell  on  his 
knees  before  Alexis  and  began  to  kiss  his  hands  like  some 
affectionate  dog  ;  it  was  an  old  soldier  of  the  Preobrazhensky 
regiment,  who  happened  to  be  on  the  same  watch — a  secret 
Raskolnik. 

The  old  man  looked  up  with  such  love  to  Alexis  as  though 
he  would  sacrifice  his  soul  for  him  ;  he  cried  and  whispered 
to  him  as  in  adoration  : — 

"  Lord  Tsarevitch,  our  light  and  sunshine,  poor  orphan, 
no  father  nor  mother  !  May  the  Heavenly  Father  and 
the  pure  Virgin  protect  and  keep  thee  !  " 

Alexis  had  often  been  beaten,  with  or  without  ceremony, 
with  fist  or  cane.  In  everything  else  the  Tsar  followed  the 
new  ideas.  Only  his  son  he  beat  according  to  the  old  tra- 
dition, following  the  advice  of  Father  Sylvester,  author 
of  the  Domostroi,  councillor  to  the  Tsar  Ivan  the  Terrible, 
(who  killed  his  son,  5'ou  remember). 

"  Do  not  let  your  son  gain  mastery  in  his  youth,  but  beat 
him  as  he  grows.  Strike  him  with  a  stick,  it  won't  kill,  but 
make  a  man  of  him  !  " 

Alexis  shrank  in  bodily  fear  from  the  blows,  "  He  will 
kill,  maim  me  "  ;  but  the  moral  suffering  and  shame  he 
had  grown  used  to.  At  times  a  hard  joy  kindled  within  him, 
"  Well  !  what  of  it  !  Strike  me,  it  is  you  who  are 
shamed,  not  I,"  he  seemed  to  say  to  his  father,  fixing  on  him 
a  look  at  once  infinitely  submissive  and  infinitely  insolent. 

His  father  probably  divined  this,  for  he  ceased  beating 


254  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

him  and  devised  another  punishment.  He  broke  off  all  inter- 
course with  him.  When  Alexis  addressed  him,  he  remained 
silent,  pretended  not  to  hear,  looked  past  him,  as  into  space. 
The  silence  would  last  weeks,  months,  years.  Alexis  was 
conscious  of  it  at  all  times  and  wherever  he  went.  It  grew 
more  intolerable,  more  insulting  than  scolding,  more  terrible 
than  blows.  He  felt  it  to  be  slow  murder,  a  cruelty  which 
neither  man  nor  God  could  wipe  out. 

This  sheer  silence  was  the  end  of  everything.  Beyond, 
there  was  nothing  but  darkness,  and  through  the  darkness 
he  saw  the  immovable  face  of  his  father,  motionless  as  a 
stone  mask,  as  it  had  appeared  at  their  last  inter- 
view. And  the  terrible  words  coming  from  lips  that  were 
dead  to  him  :  "  I'll  cut  you  off  hke  a  gangrenous  limb  !  " 


The  thread  of  reminiscence  snapped  ;  he  opened  his  eyes 
The  night  was  as  quiet  as  ever  ;  the  white  church  towers 
were  still  wrapped  in  a  bluish  haze.  The  golden  domes 
shone  silvery  in  heaven's  dark  blue  vault,  studded  with 
stars  ;  the  Milky  Way  glimmered  but  faintly  ;  and  the 
fresh  breezes  of  heaven,  even  as  the  breathing  of  a  slum- 
berer,  seemed  to  bring  with  them  from  the  heavens  a  fore- 
boding of  eternal  rest,  infinite  quietude. 

Alexis  seemed  to  experience  in  this  moment  the  weari- 
ness of  his  whole  life.  His  back,  hands,  legs,  his  whole 
body  was  an  ache,  his  bones  were  full  of  pain. 

He  wanted  to  get  up  but  had  no  strength  left.  He  could 
but  raise  his  hands  to  heaven  and  moan,  as  if  calling  to  Him 
who  could  respond  : 

"  My  God,  my  God  !  " 

But  no  one  answered.  Silence  reigned  on  earth  as  in 
heaven,  it  seemed  his  Heavenly  Father  had  forsaken  him, 
like  his  earthl}'  one.  He  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  and  lean- 
ing with  his  head  against  the  stone  bench  he  began  to  weep, 
first  quietly,  plaintively,  as  do  neglected  children,  then 
louder  and  louder,  more  poignantly.  He  sobbed,  beat  his 
head  against  the  stoiic,  crying  from  the  insult,  indignation 
and  terror.  He  cried  because  he  had  no  father  now,  and  in 
that  cry  was  the  cry  from  Golgotha — the  eternal  cry  of  the 
Son  to  th«;  Father  : — 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION     255 

"  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  " 

Suddenly  he  felt,  just  as  that  night  when  posted  as  sentry, 
some  one  approach  in  the  darkness,  stoop  over  and  embrace 
him.  It  was  Father  John,  the  old  sacristan  of  the  Annunci- 
ation. 

"  What  ails  you,  my  lord  ?  The  Lord  be  with  you. 
Who  has  grieved  you  ?  " 

"  Father  !     Father  !  "  was  all  that  Alexis   couli  utter. 

The  old  man  understood  it  all.  He  sighed  heavily,  re- 
mained silent  for  a  while,  and  then  began  to  whisper  in  the 
spirit  of  hopeless  resignation.  The  time-worn  wisdom  of 
the  past  was  speaking  through  him. 

"  What  can  be  done,  Alexis  ?  Submit  yourself  my  child. 
The  whip  cannot  outdo  the  axe,  neither  can  you  vie  with 
the  Tsar.  God  is  in  the  heavens,  the  Tsar  on  earth.  The 
Tsar's  will  nmst  not  be  questioned.  He  is  responsible  to 
God  alone.  And  to  you  he  is  not  only  the  Tsar  but  our 
parent  ordained  by  God." 

"  Not  a  father  but  a  villain,  a  torturer,  a  murderer," 
cried  Alexis,  "  curse  him,  curse  him,  the  monster  !  " 

"  Lord  Tsarevitch,  your  Highness  !  Invoke  not  God's 
wrath,  use  not  such  violent  language.  Great  is  a  father's 
power.     It  is  written  :    Honour  thy  father " 

Alexis  suddenly  stopped  weeping,  turned  round  abruptly 
and  fixed  on  the  old  man  a  searching  look. 

"  But  something  else  too,  is  written  :  '  Think  not  that  I 
am  come  to  send  peace  on  earth  ;  I  came  not  to  send  peace 
but  a  sword.  For  I  am  come  to  set  a  man  at  variance  against 
his  father.'  Do  you  heed,  old  man  ?  God  it  is  who  turned 
me  against  my  father ;  I  have  been  sent  from  God  as  a  sword, 
an  enemy,  to  pierce  the  heart  of  m}^  parent,  I  am  his  heaven- 
sent judgment  and  execution.  I  stood  up  not  for  my  own 
sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  Church,  the  Empire,  the  whole 
Christian  people.  Zealous,  I  was  zealous  for  the  Lord. 
No  !  I  will  not  humble  myself,  nor  submit,  not  even  if  it 
should  mean  my  death.  The  world  cannot  hold  us  both. 
Either  he  or  I !  " 

The  face  distorted  by  convulsions,  the  trembling  jaw, 
the  fierce  fire  in  the  eyes,  suddenly  bore  an  unsuspected 
likeness  to  his  father. 

The  old  man  gazed  at  him  in  terror,  as  at  one  possessed, 


256  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

he  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  shook  his  head  and  with  his 
time-worn  hps  mumbled  the  words  of  time-worn  wisdom  : — 

"  Submit !  submit !  bow  before  your  father's  will  " 

And  it  seemed  as  if  the  ancient  Kremlin  walls,  the  palaces, 
churches,  yea  the  very  ground  itself,  together  with  the 
tombs  of  the  patriarchs,  echoed  the  words:  "Submit! 
Submit !  " 

When  the  Tsarevitch  entered  the  house  of  the  sacristan, 
the  latter's  sister,  who  had  been  nurse  to  Alexis,  Martha 
by  name,  glancing  at  his  face  thought  him  ill.  Her  anxiety 
only  increased  when  he  refused  to  share  their  supper,  but 
went  straight  to  his  chamber.  The  old  soul  offered  to  give 
him  lime-tea  and  to  rub  him  with  camphorated  spirit.  To 
pacify  her  he  was  obliged  to  take  some  brandy.  With  her 
own  hands  she  put  him  to  bed,  on  a  couch  softer,  with  its 
mountain  of  eiderdown  and  pillows,  than  any  he  had  slept 
on  for  an  age.  The  holy  lamps  burned  peacefully  before 
the  images  ;  the  air  was  saturated  with  the  familiar  scent 
of  dried  herbs,  cypress  and  myrrh.  So  soothing  was  the 
monotonous  babbling  of  his  nurse,  while  relating  the  old 
tales  about  the  Tsar  John  and  the  grey  wolf,  about  the 
Cock  with  the  golden  comb,  about  the  Bast  shoe,  the  baboon 
and  the  wisp  of  straw,  who  wanted  to  cross  the  river  to- 
gether— the  straw  broke,  the  bast  shoe  sank,  and  the  ba- 
boon swelled  until  it  burst — that  it  seemed  to  Alexis  in  his 
half-sleep  he  was  only  a  little  boy  and  was  lying  in  his 
tiny  bed  in  his  grandmother's  terem,  and  that  all  which  had 
been  was  not ;  that  it  was  not  Martha,  but  his  granny, 
bending  over  him,  covering  him  up,  tucking  him  in,  bless- 
ing him  and  whispering,  "  Sleep  darling,  sleep,  may  God 
watch  over  thee."  And  all  is  still  and  peaceful.  Only 
the  siren  bird,  denizen  of  Eden,  is  again  singing  its  royal 
songs,  and  as  he  listens  to  its  melodious  strains,  he  seems 
to  die,  to  sink  into  an  eternal,  dreamless  slumber. 

But  just  before  the  break  of  day  he  dreamt  he  was  walk- 
ing inside  the  Kremlin,  across  the  Red  Square,  through  the 
throng  of  people. 

It  was  Palm  Sunday  and  Christ's  entry  into  Jerusalem 
was  being  solemnised.  Arrayed  in  regal  robes,  with  the 
golden  mantle  and  crown  and  barma  of  Monomachus,  he 
leads  by  the  reins  the  ass  on  which  sits  the  patriarch,  a 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      257 

white -bearded  old  man,  all  in  white  and  radiant  in  his  white- 
ness. But  looking  more  closely,  Alexis  perceives  that  the 
figure  is  no  longer  an  old  man,  but  a  youth,  in  robes  whiter 
than  snow,  with  a  face  luminous  as  the  sun — Christ  Him- 
self. The  crowd  does  not  see  or  cannot  recognise  Him, 
They  all  have  terrible,  lurid,  corpse-like  faces.  All  are 
silent,  so  silent  that  Alexis  can  hear  his  own  heart  beat. 
And  the  sky  is  also  terrible,  a  livid  grey,  as  if  before  an 
eclipse  of  the  sun.  At  his  feet  there  lolls  a  hunchback,  in 
a  three-cornered  hat  and  a  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth,  who 
puffs  straight  into  his  face  stinking  Dutch  tobacco.  He 
babbles  something,  grins  insolently,  and  points  with  his 
finger  to  a  place  whence  comes  a  noise  growing  nearer  and 
louder,  like  the  nmibling  of  an  approaching  storm.  And 
Alexis  perceives  that  it  comes  from  a  procession.  The 
Archdeacon  of  the  '  Most  Drunken  Convocation  of  Tsar 
Peter'  leads  by  the  reins  not  an  ass  but  some  outlandish 
beast.  Some  one  with  a  dark  face  rides  on  the  beast. 
Alexis  cannot  distinguish  it  but  it  seems  to  resemble,  only 
more  terrible  and  repulsive  than  they,  the  scoundrel  Theo- 
dosius  and  Peter  the  thief.  Before  them  walks  a  shameless 
wench,  naked  ;  it  might  be  Afrossinia  or  else  the  Peters- 
burg Venus.  All  the  bells  are  ringing,  including  the  great 
bell  of  the  John  tower,  called  the  Roarer,  and  the  peoplfe 
shout  as  they  had  done  some  time  before  at  the  wedding 
of  the  Kniaz-Pope  : — 

"  The  Patriarch  is  married !  The  Patriarch  is  married  !  " 
Falling  on  their  knees,  they  worshipped  the  beast,  the 
wench  and  the  low  scoundrel. 

"  Hosanna!  Hosanna !    Blessed  is  he  that  cometh  !  " 

Abandoned  by  every  one,  Alexis  remains  alone  with  Christ, 
alone  amidst  the  maddened  throng.  The  wild  procession 
hurries  straight  upon  them,  with  shouts,  shrieks,  bringing 
with  it  smoke  and  stench,  which  tarnish  the  gold  of  the 
royal  robes  and  even  dims  the  very  sunlight  of  Christ's  face. 
Now  the  roysterers  will  be  upon  them,  trampling,  crushing, 
sweeping  all  before  them,  and  great  will  be  the  abomination 
of  desolation  in  the  holy  place. 

And  all  disappears.  He  stands  on  the  banks  of  a  wide 
dreary  river,  it  seems  to  be  the  highway  from  Poland  to  the 
Ukraine.     It  is  late  in  a  mid-autumn  day.     Wet  snow  and 

R 


258  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

black  mud.  The  wind  sweeps  the  last  leaves  from  the  trem- 
bling aspens.  A  beggar  in  tattered  rags,  blue  with  the  cold, 
plaintively  asks  a  kopeck  for  Christ's  sake ;  some  branded 
one  too,  thinks  Alexis,  as  he  notices  his  hands  and  feet  cov- 
ered with  bloody  wounds,  probably  a  recruit  who  has  de- 
serted. He  pities  the  youth  and  decides  to  give  him,  not 
merely  a  kopeck  but  a  seven  gulden  piece.  And  he  re- 
members in  his  dream,  how  he  had  entered  in  his  diary  along 
with  other  expenses  :  "November  22.  For  transport  across 
the  river  three  gulden,  for  quarters  at  a  Jewish  tavern  five 
gulden,  for  a  young  lad  starving  seven  gulden."  Already 
he  is  holding  out  the  coins  to  the  beggar  when  suddenly  a 
rough  hand  is  laid  on  his  shoulder  and  a  gruff  voice,  pro- 
bably that  of  the  sentinel,  speaks,  "  For  bestowing  alms, 
a  fine  of  five  roubles  ;  the  beggar  after  due  castigation  and 
torture  to  be  sent  off  to  the  Rogerwick." 

"  Have  pity  !  "  pleads  Alexis.  "  Foxes  have  holes,  the 
birds  of  the  air  have  nests,  but  the  Son  of  Man  hath  not 
where  to  lay  His  head."  And  looking  closer  at  the  deserter, 
the  shivering  lad,  he  perceived  that  his  face  is  like  the  sun. 
The  lad  he  dreamed  was  Christ  Himself. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MY  Son, — When  I  said  good-bye  to  you,  and  asked 
about  your  resolution  concerning  a  certain  matter, 
on  which  you  always  gave  me  the  reply  that  owing  to  your 
weakness  you  were  not  fit  for  the  throne,  but  would  prefer 
the  monastery,  I  again  told  you  to  think  it  well  over,  and 
communicate  to  me  your  decision.  I  have  waited  for  it  these 
seven  months,  but  to  this  day  you  have  written  me  nothing. 
Now,  therefore,  as  you  have  had  ample  time  for  considera- 
tion, on  receipt  of  this  letter,  decide  at  once  one  way  or  the 
other.  Should  you  choose  the  throne,  do  not  tarry  longer 
than  a  week,  but  come  to  me  here,  for  you  will  yet  be  in 
time  to  take  part  in  the  campaign.  But  should  you  choose 
the  monastery,  write  me  when  and  where  and  what  day, 
so  that  knowing  what  I  may  have  to  expect  from  you, 
my  heart  may  be  at  rest.  To  this  messenger  entrust  the 
final  answer.  Should  it  be  the  first,  state  the  day  of  your 
departure  from  Petersburg  ;  should  it  be  the  second,  the 
date  of  your  entry  into  the  cloister.  And  again  we  empha- 
size that  this  choice  must  be  final,  for  I  perceive  that,  as 
usual,  you  are  spending  your  time  to  no  purpose." 

The  courier  Saphnov  brought  this  letter  to  Roshdest- 
veno,  where  Alexis  had  returned  on  leaving  Moscow.  The 
Tsarevitch  sent  his  father  word  that  he  was  coming  to  him 
at  once,  but  in  reahty  decided  nothing.  To  him  the  two 
alternatives,  either  to  become  a  monk  or  to  prepare  himself 
for  the  duties  of  the  throne,  were  but  a  double  trap.  To 
become  a  monk  with  the  idea  that  the  hood  was  not ' '  nailed 
to  the  head  "  would  mean  to  lose  his  soul  before  God  by  a 
false  vow.  And  as  to  fitting  himself  for  the  duties  of  a 
future   monarch   in  the  sense  his  father  demanded,  it  was 


26o  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

like  asking  him  to  enter  his  mother's  womb  and  be  born 
anew. 

The  letter  neither  frightened  nor  grieved  Alexis.  It 
found  him  in  that  senseless,  listless  torpor  which  had  of 
late  repeatedly  laid  hold  of  him.  When  in  that  condition 
he  spoke  and  did  everything  as  in  a  dream,  never  knowing 
a  moment  beforehand  what  he  would  say  or  do  next.  His 
heart  was  light  and  empty  ;  whether  from  reckless  cowardice 
or  despairing  insolence,  it  was  difficult  to  say. 

He  went  to  Petersburg  and  put  up  at  his  house  near  the 
church  ded  cated  to  the  Virgin  of  all  the  Sorrowing.  He 
ordered  his  valet,  Ivan  Afanassieff,  to  pack  what  he  needed 
for  the  journey  like  the  last  time  he  went  abroad. 

"  Are  you  going  to  join  your  father  ?  " 

"  I  am  going,  the  Lord  knows  best,  either  to  him  or 
somewhere  else,"  Alexis  said  drowsily. 

"  Tsarevitch  !  How  somewhere  else?"  The  valet  was 
frightened,  or  else  feigned  to  be  so. 

"  I  should  hke  to  see  Venice,"  began  Alexis  smiling,  but 
in  the  next  moment  he  added  in  a  mournful  voice,  as  if  to 
himself,  "  I  only  do  this  to  save  myself.  Yet,  mind  you 
keep  silence.  There  is  no  one  else  besides  you  and  Kikin 
who  know  anything  about  it." 

"  I  will  keep  your  secret,"  answered  the  old  man  in  his 
usual  gruff  manner,  though  at  this  moment  his  eyes  lit 
up  with  devotion.  "  Only  we'll  have  a  rough  time  of  it 
when  you  have  left.  Bethink  yourself  what  you  intend 
doing " 

"  I  did  not  expect  any  message  from  my  father,"  con- 
tinued the  Tsarevitch  in  the  same  drowsy  tone,  "  and  it 
never  came  to  my  mind ;  but  now  I  see  it  is  God  who  guides 
me.  I  dreamt  last  night  that  I  was  building  churches, 
which  means  I  have  a  journey  to  take " 

He  yawned. 

"  Many  in  your  station  have  sought  refuge  in  flight," 
remarked  Afanassieff,  "  but  it  has  never  happened  in 
Russia  within  the  memory  of  man." 

From  his  house  .Alexis  went  straight  to  Menshikov  and 
informed  him  that  he  w  s  going  to  join  h'S  father.  The 
Prince  i^poke  amiabh-,  and  1  efore  parting  asked  : — 

"  And  where  will  you  leave  Afrossinia  ?  " 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      261 

"  I'll  take  her  as  far  as  Riga  and  then  send  her  back  to 
Petersburg,"  answered  Alexis  at  random,  hardly  realising 
what  he  said  ;  afterwards  he  marvelled  at  his  instinctive 
cunning. 

"  Why  send  her  back  ?  "  said  Menshikov  looking  him 
straight  in  the  face,  "  better  take  her  with  you." 

Had  Alexis  been  more  attentive  he  would  have  been 
surprised.  Menshikov  must  have  known  that  a  son  "  desir- 
ous of  fitting  himself  for  the  throne,"  could  not  appear  in 
his  father's  camp,  "  to  study  military  duties  "  with  his 
mistress  Afrossinia.  What  did  the  advice  mean  ?  When 
in  the  course  of  time  Kikin  heard  about  it,  he  suggested 
that  Alexis  should  thank  the  prince  by  letter  for  his  advice  : 
"  Your  father  might  chance  to  find  the  letter  at  the  prince's 
house,  and  suspicion  at  his  having  been  an  accomplice  in 
your  flight  might  be  aroused." 

Menshikov  told  him  to  come  to  the  Senate  for  the  pass- 
port and  money  for  the  journey  before  leaving. 

In  the  Senate  all  vied  with  one  another  in  trying  to 
render  a  service  to  the  Tsarevitch,  as  if  they  wanted  to  show 
secretly  a  sympathy  for  him,  which  they  did  not  dare  to  con- 
fess openly.  Menshikov  provided  him  with  2,000  gold 
roubles  ;  the  Senate  another  1,000,  and  at  the  same  time 
arranged  with  the  High  Commissioner  of  Riga  for  a  loan  of 
5,000  in  gold,  and  2,000  in  small  money.  No  one  asked 
awkward  questions ;  they  all  seemed  to  have  agreed  not  to 
inquire  why  Alexis  should  need  so  much  money.  After 
the  meeting  was  over.  Prince  Basil  Dolgoruki  took  him 
aside  :    "  Are  you  going  to  your  father  ?  " 

"  Where  else.  Prince  ?  " 

Dolgoruki  looked  carefully  round,  and  then  bringing  his 
aged  effeminate  lips  close  to  Alexis's  ear,  he  whispered : — 

"  What  else  ?     Come,  I'll  tell  thee  " and  after  a  short 

silence  he  added,  still  in  a  whisper,  "  Had  I  considered 
only  the  Tsar's  temper,  and  had  there  been  no  Tsantsa,  I 
would  have  been  the  first  to  desert  at  Stettin  myself." 

He  pressed  Alexis'  hand,  and  tears  stood  in  his  sly, 
kindly  eyes.  "  Could  I  serve  thee  in  any  way  later  on,  I 
would  gladly  lay  down  my  life  for  thee." 

"  Don't  forget  me,"  murmured  Alexis  quite  mechanically, 
prompted  by  no  thought  or  feeling. 


262  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

He  learnt  in  the  evening  that  Jacob  Dolgoniki,  one  of 
the  Tsar's  most  devoted  servants,  had  indirectly  sent  him 
word  not  to  join  his  father  :  "a  bad  reception  awaits  him 
there." 

The  next  morning,  September  26, 1706,  Alexis  left  Peters- 
burg, in  a  mail  coach,  together  with  Afrossinia  and  her 
brother  Ivan,  a  freed  serf.  He  had  not  yet  decided  where 
he  was  going.  On  leaving  Riga  he  still  took  Afrossinia 
with  him,  saying  that  he  "  had  orders  to  proceed  in cogniio 
to  Vienna  in  order  that  he  might  arrange  an  alliance  against 
the  Turks." 

In  Libau  he  was  met  by  Kikin,  who  was  returning  from 
Vienna. 

"  Have  you  found  me  a  refuge  ?  "  inquired  the  Tsare- 
vitch. 

"  I  have.  Go  straight  to  the  Emperor,  they  will  not 
betray  you  there.  The  Emperor  himself  told  the  Vice- 
Chancellor,  Schonborn,  that  he  will  receive  you  like  a  son." 

"  Should  envoys  from  my  father  meet  me  at  Dantzic, 
what  shall  I  do  then  ?  " 

"  Escape  at  night,"  answered  Kikin,  "  with  one  of  the 
lads,  leaving  the  luggage  and  other  servants  behind.  If 
two  envoys  are  sent,  pretend  to  be  ill,  send  back  one  in 
advance  and  run  away  from  the  other." 

Observing  his  indecision,  Kikin  continued : — 

"  Remember,  Tsarevitch,  your  father  will  not  let  you 
become  a  monk  now,  even  if  you  should  want  to.  Your 
friends,  the  Senators,  have  persuaded  him  to  keep  you 
always  near  him,  and  to  make  you  accompany  him  every- 
where, hoping  thus  to  kill  you  by  overtaxing  your  strength, 
and  your  father  said  it  was  well  thought  of.  Further, 
Prince  Menshikov  reasoned  with  him,  saying  that  you 
would  have  too  much  peace  in  the  monastery  and  might 
live  too  long.  Knowing  these  plans  I  am  surprised  they 
have  not  laid  violent  hands  on  you  before  now.  They 
might,  however,  do  this,  get  you  on  to  Danish  soil  and  then 
your  father,  under  pretext  of  instruction,  will  put  you  on 
board  a  man  of  war,  the  captain  of  which  will  have  orders 
to  engage  with  a  Swedish  vessel  standing  by,  and  thus  get 
you  shot — this  rumour  comes  from  Copenhagen,  and  it  will 
explain  why  you  are  now  wanted.     Nothing  but  flight  can 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION     263 

save  you.  To  voluntarily  run  your  head  into  a  noose 
would  be  the  height  of  idiocy,"  continued  Kikin,  gazing 
intently  at  Alexis. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  You  look  so  sleepy  ! 
Do  you  not  feel  well  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  tired,"  Alexis  replied  simply. 

They  had  already  taken  leave  of  one  another,  when  Kikin 
suddenly  turned  and  ran  back  to  Alexis,  stopped  him,  and 
looking  him  straight  in  the  face,  said  slowly,  accentuating 
every  word,  and  so  great  was  the  conviction  behind  them 
that  the  Tsarevitch,  notwithstanding  his  indifference, 
shuddered  : — 

"  Should  your  father  send  some  one  to  try  and  persuade 
you  to  come  back,  and  promise  3'ou  absolute  pardon,  do 
not,  on  any  account,  hsten  to  him.  He  will  publicly  be- 
head you." 

On  quitting  Libau,  Alexis  was  as  undecided  where  to 
go  as  on  leaving  Petersburg.  Besides,  he  had  hoped  that 
there  would  be  no  need  to  come  to  a  decision,  since  he 
expected  to  find  envoys  from  his  father  at  Dantzic. 

In  Dantzic  the  road  branched  out,  one  led  to  Copen- 
hagen, one  across  Breslau  to  Vienna.  No  envoys  were  there. 
It  was  impossible  to  waver  any  longer.  When  the  landlord 
at  the  hostel  where  Alexis  had  put  up  for  the  night,  came  in 
to  ask  where  the  horses  had  to  be  ordered  for  on  the  morrow, 
the  Tsarevitch  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  an  absent 
gaze,  as  if  he  were  thinking  about  something  else,  and  then 
said,  hardly  conscious  of  what  it  was, 

"  For  Breslau." 

The  next  moment  this  word,  decisive  of  his  fate,  fright- 
ened him.  Yet  he  thought  there  would  be  time  to  cancel 
the  order  on  the  morrow.  In  the  morning  the  horses  were 
ready,  nothing  remained  but  to  enter  the  coach  and  be  off. 
He  postponed  altering  his  decision  till  the  next  station,  at 
the  next  station  till  Frankfort  on  the  Oder,  at  Frankfort 
till  Tiibingen,  at  Tiibingen  till  Grossen  and  so  on.  He 
went  on  and  on,  and  already  it  was  beyond  his  power  to 
stop  ;  he  seemed  to  have  broken  loose  and  was  now  rolling 
down  a  slippery  slope.  The  same  sense  of  fear  which 
before  had  kept  him  back  now  seemed  to  drive  him  on  and 
on,  and  the  fear  increased  with  the  travelling.     He  reahzed 


264  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

that  his  fright  was  groundless,  that  his  father  could  as  yet 
know  nothing  about  his  flight,  yet  his  blind,  senseless  fear 
he  could  not  quell.  Kikin  had  supplied  him  with  false 
passes.  Alexis  gave  out  that  he  was  now  a  Polish  cavalier 
Kremenetzky,  now  the  Lieutenant  Colonel  Kohansky,  now 
the  Lieutenant  Balka,  now  a  Russian  merchant.  Yet  it 
seemed  to  him  that  all  the  innkeepers,  coachmen,  driveis, 
and  post-masters  knew  that  he  was  the  Russian  Tsarevitch, 
escaping,  escaping  from  his  father  !  When  sleeping  at  night 
in  an  inn  he  would  start  and  jump  out  of  bed  alarmed 
at  the  least  sound,  noise  of  steps  or  creaking  of  the 
floor.  Once,  when  a  man  of  about  the  same  height  as 
his  father,  dressed  in  a  grey  coat  such  as  Peter  was  wont 
to  wear,  entered  the  dusky  dining  room  where  Alexis  was 
just  having  his  supper,  he  nearly  fainted.  He  saw  spies 
everywhere.  The  liberality  with  which  he  spent  his  money 
made  the  careful  Germans  suspect,  indeed,  that  they  were 
dealing  with  a  person  of  royal  blood  ;  he  was  given  the 
best  horses  on  the  extra  posts,  and  the  coachmen  went  at 
their  fullest  speed.  Once  in  the  twilight,  noticing  a  coach 
driving  behind  them,  he  fancied  it  was  in  pursuit.  He 
promised  the  driver  ten  gulden  ;  the  latter  went  at  a  mad 
pace.  On  turning  a  corner  the  axle  was  caught  on  a  sti-ne, 
and  the  wheel  flew  off.  They  were  obliged  to  stop  and  get 
out.  The  people  driving  behind  caught  them  up.  Alexis 
was  frightened  to  such  an  extent,  that  he  wanted  to  leave 
everything  and  alone  with  Afrossinia  run  on  foot  to  hide  in 
the  wood.  He  was  already  dragging  her,  and  it  was  only 
after  considerable  effort  that  she  succeeded  in  holding  him 
back. 

After  Breslau  he  hardly  stopped  anyv/here.  He  travelled 
night  and  day  without  rest.  He  could  neither  eat  nor 
sleep.  Every  morsel  he  tried  to  swallow  seemed  to  choke 
him.  No  sooner  did  he  doze  off  than  the  next  moment  he 
awoke,  shuddering  all  over,  bathed  in  cold  sweat.  He 
would  rather  have  died  or  be  at  once  caught,  anything  to 
escape  this  torture. 

At  last,  after  five  sleepless  nights,  he  fell  into  a  deep 
slumber. 

He  woke  in  the  coach  ;  it  was  early  ;  dawn  had  not  yet 
broken.  The  sleep  had  refreshed  him,  he  felt  almost  vigorous. 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      265 

Afrossinia  lay  sleeping  next  to  him.  It  was  cold,  he 
wrapped  her  up  and  kissed  her  sleeping  face.  They  were 
passing  through  some  small  unknown  city,  with  tall  narrow 
houses,  and  streets  which  echoed  noisily  the  rattle  of  the 
wheels.  The  shutters  were  closed,  all  seemed  asleep.  In 
the  middle  of  the  market  place  before  the  town  hall,  bubbled 
a  fountain  which  flowed  over  the  edges  of  a  moss-grown 
stone  shell,  supported  by  stooping  tritons.  A  holy  lamp 
was  burning  in  the  niche  before  a  Madonna. 

On  leaving  the  town  they  ascended  the  hill,  thence  the 
road  led  down  into  a  wide,  gently  sloping  plain.  The 
coach  was  driven  by  six  horses  as  swift  as  an  arrow  ;  the 
wheels  softly  rustled  through  the  damp  dust,  the  mists  of 
night  were  still  clouding  the  valleys  ;  yet  round  the  slopes 
the  shroud  had  already  began  to  grow  less  and  less  dense  ; 
the  mist  lifted  slowly  like  a  curtain,  leaving  behind  it  the 
dry  grass  and  the  sticky  threads  of  cobweb  beaded  with 
sparkling  dewdrops.  A  gleam  of  blue  sky  pierced  the 
wafted  vault.  A  flock  of  cranes  passed  across  it,  caught 
by  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun  not  yet  visible  from  below  ; 
through  the  autumnal  air  rang  their  gathering  cry.  Hills 
appeared  on  the  borders  of  the  plain  wrapped  in  a  bluish 
haze  ;  these  were  the  mountains  of  Bohemia.  Suddenly  a 
dazzling  ray  flashed  from  behind  them  straight  into  Alexis' 
eyes,  the  sun  was  rising,  and  joy  rose  within  his  breast  hke 
the  sun.     It  was  God  who  had  saved  him,  no  one  but  God ! 

He  laughed  and  wept  for  joy,  as  if  it  was  for  the  first  time 
he  saw  earth  and  sky  and  mountains.  He  watched  the 
cranes,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  too  had  wings,  he  too 
was  flying.     He  breathed  deep,  again  and  again. 

"  Freedom,  Freedom  !  " 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  Courier  Saphnov,  who  had  been  sent  in  advance 
from  Petersburg,  informed  the  Tsar  that  the  Tsare- 
vitch  was  following  immediately  after  him,  yet  two  months 
passed  by  and  he  did  not  appear.  The  Tsar  would  not 
believe  for  some  time  that  his  son  had  run  away  :  "  How 
can  he  ?  he  would  not  dare."  But  in  the  end  he  believed, 
and  sent  detectives  along  all  roads  and  gave  his  Resident, 
Abraham  Vesselovsky,  in  Vienna,  the  following  order :  "  It 
lies  with  you  to  make  inquiries  in  Vienna,  Rome,  Naples, 
Milan,  Sardinia,  and  Switzerland  ;  whenever  you  get 
information  of  our  son's  abode,  after  having  carefully 
made  investigations,  go  thither  and  follow  him  up ;  at  the 
same  time  inform  us  at  once  by  special  messenger  ;  your- 
self remaining  incognito." 

Vesselovsky,  after  a  long  search,  at  last  came  across  his 
track.  "  We  can  trace  him  so  far,"  he  wrote  to  the  Tsar 
from  Vienna — "A  certain  Lieutenant  Kochansky  stayed  at 
the  Black  Eagle  outside  the  town.  The  waiter  tells  me 
that  he  took  him  to  be  some  distinguished  person,  as  he 
spent  his  money  very  freely,  was  not  unlike  the  Tsar  of 
Moscow,  possibly  his  son — the  which  Tsar  he  had  seen  in 
Vienna." 

Peter  was  surprised  ;  to  him  there  was  something  strange 
and  terrible  in  these  words,  "  not  unlike  the  Tsar."  It  had 
never  occurred  to  him  that  Alexis  could  resemble  him. 

"  After  a  stay  of  only  twenty-four  hours  at  the  inn," 
continued  Vesselovsky,  "  he  had  his  things  taken  away  by 
a  hired  driver,  and  himself  went  on  foot,  after  paying  his 
bill,  so  that  they  do  not  know  whether  he  has  gone  further 
or  not.  During  his  stay  at  the  inn  he  bought  his  wife  a 
man's  suit  of  brown  colour  which  she  put  on.     All  further 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      267 

traces  have  disappeared.  I  have  inquired  in  all  the  local 
inns,  taverns,  in  private  and  public  houses,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose. I  have  also  engaged  the  help  of  detectives.  I  went 
myself  along  two  mail  roads  which  lead  from  here  into 
Italy,  the  Tyrolese  and  the  Carinthian  Road,  but  nobody 
could  supply  me  with  the  needed  information." 

The  Tsar,  divining  that  the  Emperor  had  welcomed  the 
fugitive  and  was  hiding  him  in  his  dominions,  sent  him  a 
letter  from  Amsterdam. 

"  Most  Serene  and  most  mighty  Emperor, 

"  I  am  compelled  to  announce  to  your  Imperial 
Majesty,  in  fraternal  confidence  with  heartfelt  sorrow,  a 
calamity  which  has  unexpectedly  befallen  us.  It  concerns 
our  son  Alexis.  We  have  grounds  for  believing  that  your 
Majesty  is  not  unaware  that  his  past  behaviour  was  always 
in  opposition  to  our  fatherly  will,  to  our  greatest  discomfort, 
and  that  his  conduct  in  wedded  life  with  your  relative  left 
much  to  be  desired.  Some  time  ago  we  ordered  him  to 
join  us  here,  hoping  by  this  means  to  sever  him  from  his 
useless  life  and  companions.  Taking  none  of  his  servants 
appointed  by  us,  but  in  the  company  of  several  young 
people,  he  abandoned  the  road  to  ourselves,  and  disappeared 
no  one  knows  where,  and  to  this  day  we  remain  in  ignorance 
of  his  whereabouts.  And  we,  convinced  that  he  has  taken 
this  blameworthy  decision  on  the  advice  of  certain  people, 
have  fatherly  compassion  upon  him,  and, afraid  lest  he  should 
bring  eternal  destruction  upon  himself  by  this  insubordinate 
act,  and  still  more,  to  prevent  his  falling  into  the  hands  of 
our  enemies,  have  given  a  command  to  our  Resident  Vessel- 
ovsky  at  your  court,  to  find  him  and  bring  him  hither. 
Therefore  we  pray  your  Imperial  Majesty,  should  he  be 
in  hiding  in  your  dominions,  secretly  or  openly,  to  give 
orders  that  he  be  sent  to  us  with  our  Resident,  and  under 
the  safe  convoy  of  several  officers,  in  order  that  we  may 
fatherly  chide  him  for  his  well-being.  And  we  shall 
eternally  feel  obliged  to  you  for  this  service  and  mark  of 
friendship. 

"  We  remain, 
"Your  Imperial  Majesty's  faithful  brother, 

"  Peter." 


268  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

At  the  same  time  it  was  intimated  to  the  Emperor,  that 
if  he  refused  to  dehver  Alexis  up  of  his  own  goodwill,  the 
Tsar  would  seek  his  son  out  like  a  traitor,  with  armed  force. 

Each  piece  of  new  information  that  reached  the  Tsar 
was  a  fresh  insult  to  him.  Under  the  feigned  sympathy  of 
Europe  lurked  a  secret  enmity.  "  A  certain  major-general, 
on  his  return  from  Hanover,"  Vesselovsky  reported,  "  meet- 
ing me  at  court,  spoke  with  me  in  the  presence  of  the 
Ambassador  of  Mecklenburg  ;  he  sympathized  with  your 
Majesty's  illness,  which  he  presumed  had  been  caused  by 
grief,  from  the  fact  that  your  Crown  Prince  '  had  become 
invisible,'  using  the  French  phrase,  '  II  est  eclipse.'  I 
asked  him  where  he  got  this  false  information  from.  He 
answered  me  that  this  information  was  true  and  authentic, 
and  he  had  it  from  the  Hanoverian  ministers.  To  which 
I  replied  that  it  was  a  calumny,  owing  its  existence  to  the 
ill-will  of  the  Hanoverian  Court." 

"  The  Emperor  has  good  reason  to  support  the  Crown 
Prince,"  reported  Vesselovsky,  as  an  opinion  which  is  cur- 
rent at  the  foreign  court,  "  because  the  aforesaid  Crown 
Prince  is  in  the  right  as  against  his  father,  and  had  cause  for 
escaping  from  his  father's  dominions.  Quite  in  the  begin- 
ning, soon  after  the  birth  of  the  Tsarevitch  Peter,  your 
Majesty  is  supposed  to  have  forced  Alexis  to  abdicate  the 
throne  and  to  retire  for  the  rest  of  his  life  to  a  hermitage. 
And  when  your  Majesty  was  in  Pomerania,  seeing  that  the 
Crown  Prince  did  not  attempt  to  retire,  you  were  supposed 
to  have  devised  a  new  plan.  This,  was  to  lure  him  to 
Holland  and,  under  the  pretext  of  instruction,  to  place  him 
on  one  of  your  war  vessels,  give  the  Captain  orders  to  engage 
in  a  fight  with  a  Swedish  vessel,  which  it  was  arranged 
should  stand  close  by,  and  thus  cause  the  Tsarevitch  to 
be  killed.     This  was  the  reason  for  his  flight." 

The  Tsar  was  informed  at  the  same  time  about  the  secret 
negotiations  between  the  Emperor  and  King  George  the 
First  of  England.  "  The  Emperor,  prompted  by  ties  of 
relationship,  as  well  as  by  compassion  for  the  sufferings  of 
the  Tsarevitch,  and  by  the  generosity  of  the  imperial  house 
towards  all  innocently  persecuted  persons,  had  granted 
shelter  and  protection  to  the  Tsar's  son.  He  asked  the 
King  of  England  whether  he,  too,  felt  disposed  as  an  Elector 


THE  ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION      269 

and  relative  of  the  house  of  Braunschweig,  to  protect  the 
Tsarevitch.  Attention  was  called  to  his  miserable  condi- 
tion— '  Miseranda  conditio  ' — the  father's  evident  and 
unrelenting  tyranny—'  clara  et  continua  paterna  tyranni- 
das  ' — also  suspicion  of  poisoning  and  such  like  Russian 
'  galanterien.'  " 

The  son  became  a  judge,  an  accuser  of  the  father. 

And  what  more  might  happen  ?  The  Tsarevitch  might 
become  a  weapon  in  the  enemy's  hand — might  kindle  an 
insurrection  in  the  heart  of  Russia,  entangle  the  whole  of 
Europe  in  the  war,  and  God  alone  knows  how  this  would 
end.  "  To  kill  him  were  too  little!  "  mused  the  maddened 
Tsar. 

Yet  another  feeling  overpowered  him,  a  new  feeling.  The 
father  had  become  afraid  of  the  son. 


Book  VI 

THE  FUGITIVE  TSAREVITCH 

CHAPTER    I 

THE  Tsarevitch  and  Afrossinia  were  boating  one 
summer  moonlight  night,  on  the  Gulf  of  Naples. 

The  very  soul  of  Alexis  was  thrilled  by  the  harmony 
around  him  ;  harmony  in  the  tremor  of  the  moon's  golden 
train  which  fell  upon  the  water,  a  blazing  path  reaching 
from  Posilippo  across  to  the  very  brink  of  the  horizon  ; 
harmony  in  the  murmur  of  the  sea,  and  the  light  breeze 
which  carried,  together  with  the  salt  freshness  of  the  sea  air, 
sweet  perfume  from  the  shores  of  Sorrento,  clad  in  lemon 
and  orange  groves  ;  harmony  in  the  silvery  azure  outlines 
of  Mount  Vesuvius,  wrapped  in  luminous  mist,  emitting  a 
white  smoke  and,  from  time  to  time,  flaring  up  like  dying 
embers  on  an  altar  consecrated  to  the  gods  ;  the  gods  who 
had  died,  who  had  risen  again,  and  again  had  expired. 

"  Dearest  one,  see  how  lovely  this  is,"  whispered  the 
Tsarevitch. 

Afrossinia  looked  round  her  with  the  same  placid  in- 
difference as  if  the  scene  were  the  Neva  and  the  Peter  and 
Paul  fortress. 

"  Yes,  it  is  warm  ;  though  we  are  on  the  water  we  don't 
seem  to  feel  the  damp,"  she  replied  with  a  suppressed  yawn. 

He  closed  his  eyes,  and  before  him  rose  a  vision  of  a  room 
in  Viasemski's  house  in  Petersburg ;  it  was  a  spring  evening, 
slanting  rays  of  the  setting  sun  flooded  the  room  ;  the  ser- 
vant girl  Afrossinia,  in  a  well  tucked-up  skirt  and  bare- 
footed, bending  low  over  her  work,  scrubbing  the  floor. 
She  is  a  simple  peasant  girl,  one  of  those  whom  village  lads 


272  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

call  as  "  firm,  plump  and  white  as  a  well-washed  turnip." 
Yet  sometimes  looking  at  her  he  would  recall  an  ancient 
Dutch  picture  he  had  seen  in  his  father's  collection  at  Peter- 
hof,  "  The  Temptation  of  St.  Anthon}^"  a  naked  red-haired 
witch,  goat-legged  with  split  hoofs  like  a  faun.  In  the  face 
of  Afrossinia  with  its  too  full  lips,  its  slightly  turned  up  nose, 
its  large,  lucid,  languishing,  almond-shaped  eyes,  there 
was  something  wild,  innocently  shameless,  almost  goat-like. 
To  his  mind  would  come  the  sayings  of  old  writers  about 
the  fatal  fascination  of  women  :  Sin  began  with  woman, 
and  through  her  we  all  die  ;  to  fall  into  her  arms  in  love  is 
to  fall  into  the  fire.  He  could  not  tell  how  it  happened,  but 
he  loved  her  almost  at  first  sight  with  a  rude  tender  love, 
strong  as  death. 

Here,  on  the  Gulf  of  Naples  she  had  remained  the  same 
Afrossinia  as  of  old  ;  h^re  she  was  cracking  with  her  teeth 
little  nuts  and  spitting  the  shells  in  the  silvered  waves,  just 
as  she  used  to  cra^k  sunflower  seeds  in  Petersburg,  sitting 
in  the  kitchen  among  her  fellow-servants  on  feast-days. 
Only  now,  dressed  in  the  French  fashion  with  beauty  spots, 
and  "  robe  ronde,"  she  appeared  yet  more  alluring  and 
innocently  shameless.  No  wonder  she  was  stared  at  by 
the  two  soldiers  and  even  by  the  elegant  Count  Esterhazy 
himself,  who  always  escorted  the  Tsarevitch  on  all  his 
expeditions  from  the  St.  Elmo  fortress.  Alexis  loathed 
th33e  leers  of  men,  ever  drawn  to  her  like  flies  to  honey. 

"  How  now,  /Esop,  are  you  tired  of  this  life,  and  longing 
to  get  home  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  drawling  sing-song  voice, 
turning  to  her  neighbour,  a  tiny,  ugly  creature,  a  naval 
apprentice,  Alexis  Yourov — iEsop  was  only  his  nickname. 

"  Ah,  Mistress  Afrossinia,  I  find  life  here  very  hard. 
The  instruction  is  so  difficult  that  we  might  well  spend  all 
the  rest  of  our  life  in  trying  to  master  it,  and  then  without 
success.  One  is  really  baffled  to  know  where  to  begin  first, 
the  language  or  the  sciences.  In  Venice  our  lads,  my  mess- 
mates, are  positively  starving  to  death  ;  their  allowance  is 
only  three  kope:ks  a  day  ;  and  really  they  have  been  so 
neglected  that  they  have  neither  drink  nor  meat,  nor  any 
clothes  left,  but  walk  about  the  streets  in  disgusting 
fashion,  half  in  rags  !  We  are  left  here  like  mere  cattle. 
But  my  chief  complaint  is,  that  I  can't  stand  the  sea,  it 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  273 

makes  me  sick.  I  am  not  a  seafaring  man.  It  will  be  my 
death,  unless  some  one  takes  pity  on  me.  I  would  gladly 
walk  back  to  Petersburg  to  escape  the  sea.  I  would  rather 
beg  my  way  than  go  by  water — may  it  please  his  Majesty !  " 

"  Ah,  my  friend,  you  will  only  drop  from  the  frying  pan 
into  the  fire.  You  won't  escape  your  dose  of  the  lash  at 
Petersburg  for  deserting  your  apprenticeship,"  remarked 
the  Tsarevitch. 

"  A  bad  job,  ^sop.  What  will  become  of  you,  poor 
orphan  ?     Where  will  you  go  ?  "  asked  Afrossinia. 

"  What  choice  is  left  for  me  ?  I  must  either  go  hang  my- 
self, or  become  a  monk  on  Mount  Athos  !  " 

Alexis  gazed  at  him  with  compassion  ;  he  involuntarily 
compared  his  own  lot  with  that  of  the  sailor  deserter. 

"  Never  mind,  friend,  we  may  yet,  with  God's  help,  hap- 
pily return  to  old  Russia,"  he  said  with  a  kindly  smile. 

They  had  now  passed  out  of  the  golden  stream  of  moon- 
light and  were  returning  to  the  dark  shore.  Here  at  the 
foot  of  a  hill  stood  an  abandoned  villa,  built  during  the 
Renaissance  period,  on  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  Venus  temple. 

Along  both  sides  of  the  half-ruined  steps,  which  led  down 
to  the  sea,  gigantic  cypresses  were  ranged  like  torch-bearers 
at  a  funeral.  Their  entwined  tips,  continually  caught  by 
the  wind  from  the  sea,  remained  bent  like  heads  drooping 
in  sorrow.  White  statues  of  gods  gleamed  spectre-like  in 
the  dark  shade.  And  the  fountain  jet  seemed  also  a 
pale  spectre.  In  the  laurel  thickets  were  shining  glow- 
worms, like  funeral  tapers.  The  heavy  scent  of  the  mag- 
nohas  recalled  the  smell  of  balsam  used  for  anointing  dead 
bodies.  A  peacock  in  the  villa,  roused  by  the  voices  and 
splashing  of  oars,  strutted  out  on  the  steps,  opening  his  tail, 
and  shimmered  in  the  moonlight  with  dim  iridescence,  a 
fan  set  with  gems.  Plaintive  cries  of  the  peahens  sovmded 
like  piercing  wails  of  mourners.  The  waters  of  the  fountain, 
trickling  from  an  overhanging  rock  along  the  thin,  hair-like 
grass,  fell  i^to  the  sea,  drop  after  drop  like  silent  tears,  as 
though  a  nymph  was  weeping  in  the  cave,  bewailing  her 
sisters.  All  this  sad  villa  brought  to  mind  some  dark  Ely- 
sium, the  subterranean  grove  of  shadows,  the  burial  ground 
of  dead  gods  ;  of  gods  who  had  died,  who  had  risen  again,  and 
again  had  died. 

s 


274  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  Could  you  believe  it,  gracious  mistress,  it  is  well  nigh 
three  years  since  I  had  a  vapour  bath  !  "  continued  ^sop. 

"  Ah  !  could  I  but  have  a  few  fresh  birch  twigs  and  then 
some  cherry  honey  after  the  bath,"  sighed  Afrossinia. 

"  Tears  almost  rise  to  my  eyes  when  drinking  the  sour 
stuff  of  this  place,  and  remember  our  vodka,"  moaned  iEsop. 

"  And  some  pressed  caviar  !  "  echoed  Afrossinia. 

"  And    salt    sturgeon  !  " 

"  And  smelt  from  the  White  Lake  !  " 

Thus  they  went  on,  aggravating  their  regrets.  The 
Tsarevitch  listened  to  them,  while  looking  at  the  villa  and 
involuntarily  smiled.  The  contrast  seemed  so  strange 
between  these  prosaic  dreams  and  the  fantastic  reality. 

Another  boat  was  gliding  along  the  fairy  path  of  the  sea, 
leaving  a  black  trace  in  the  quivering  gold.  The  sound  of  a 
mandoline  and  a  song  sung  by  a  young  girl's  voice  was 
wafted  across  the  water. 


Quant'  e  bella  giovinezza, 
Che  si  fugge  tuttavia. 
Chi  vuol  esser  lieto,  sia  ; 
Di  doman  non  c'  e  certezza  ! 


This  love  song  had  been  composed  by  Lorenzo  di  Medici 
II  Magnifico,  for  the  triumphant  procession  of  Bacchus  and 
Ariadne  at  Florentine  festivities.  It  sounded  the  short- 
lived joy  of  the  Renaissance,  and  infinite  sorrow  for  its  loss. 
The  Tsarevitch  listened,  unable  to  make  out  its  meaning,  yet 
the  music  filled  his  soul  with  sweet  melancholy. 

Fair  fleeting  youth  must  snatch  at  happiness. 
He  knows  not  if  to-morrow  curse  or  bless. 

"  And  now,  Mistress,  a  Russian  song  !  "  begged  ^Esop. 

He  meant  to  go  down  on  his  knees,  but  floundered  and 
just  escaped  tumbling  into  the  water.  He  was  not  over 
steady  on  his  feet,  owing  to  the  continual  sipping  of  the 
sour  wine  from  a  bottle,  which  he  modestly  tried  to  conceal 
under  the  lappel  of  his  coat.  One  of  the  oarsmen,  a  half- 
naked,  fine,  dark  fellow  seemed  to  understand  his  request, 
for  he  smiled  at  Afrossinia,  beckoned  iEsop  and  handed  him 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  275 

a  guitar.  The  latter  started  jingling  on  it  as  on  some  three- 
stringed  balalaika. 

Afrossinia  smiled,  glanced  at  the  Tsarevitch  and  suddenly 
began  her  song  in  a  loud,  slightly  shrieking  voice,  just  as 
she  used  to  sing  in  the  choir  on  dusky  spring  evenings  near 
the  birch  grove  which  overshadowed  the  banks  of  the  river. 
The  shores  of  Naples,  antique  Parthenope,  resounded  with 
the  unwonted  alien  strains  : — 

"  Oh  my  pretty  balcony,  newly 
Built  with  maple  tree,  latticed  fair !  " 

Infinite  yearning  for  the  past — the  distant — breathed  in 
the  Italian  song  : — 

Chi  vuol  esser  lieto.  sia  ; 
Di  doman  non  c'e  certezza. 

Infinite  desire  for  the  future  breathed  in  the  Russian  : — 

Fly  my  falcon  fair,  far  away  from  here, 

To  that  country  dear,  which  was  once  mine  o^vTl  ! 

Both  songs,  the  known  and  the  unknown,  mingled  in  one. 
The  Tsarevitch  could  hardly  restrain  his  tears ;  never  yet 
had  he. loved  Russia  so  dearly  as  now.  But  he  loved  it  with 
a  new,  all-embracing  love  as  part  of  Europe,  he  loved  the 
foreign  country  as  his  own.  And  this  love  for  his  own 
country  mingled  harmoniously  with  his  love  for  the 
foreign  one,  like  the  two  songs  over  the  water. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE  Emperor,  when  he  took  the  Tsarevitch  under  his 
protection,  the  more  securely  to  hide  him  from  his 
father,  lodged  him,  under  the  name  of  a  Hungarian  Count, 
in  the  solitary,  inaccessible  castle  of  Ehrenberg — a  real 
eagle's  nest,  clinging  to  the  peak  of  a  rock  in  the  upper  Tyro- 
lean mountains,  on  the  road  from  Fussen  to  Innsbruck. 
The  Tsarevitch  felt  himself  a  prisoner,  but  safe. 

"  Immediately  on  receiving  this,"  ran  the  Emperor's 
instructions  to  the  commander  of  the  fortress,  "  have 
two  rooms  ready  for  the  chief  person,  with  strong  doors 
and  iron-barred  windows.  Soldiers  and  their  wives  must 
not  be  allowed  to  leave  the  fortress  under  severe  penalty, 
even  death.  If  the  distinguished  prisoner  expresses  a  desire 
to  talk  to  you,  you  may  do  as  he  wishes,  both  in  this  case 
and  in  several  others  ;  as  for  instance  if  he  asks  for  a  book 
or  something  else  for  diversion,  or  even  if  he  should  invite  you 
to  dine  or  to  take  part  in  some  game.  Moreover,  you  may 
grant  him  permission  to  walk  about  in  the  rooms  or  the 
courtyard  for  fresh  air,  but  always  take  precautions  lest  he 
escape." 

Alexis  had  spent  five  months  at  Ehrenburg ;  from 
December  until  April. 

Notwithstanding  all  precautions,  the  Tsar's  spies,  Rou- 
miantzev,  captain  of  the  guards,  together  with  three  other 
officers,  who  had  secret  orders  to  obtain  possession  of  a 
certain  person  at  all  costs,  and  bring  him  to  Mecklenburg, 
learnt  of  the  Tsarevitch's  sojourn  in  Ehrenberg.  They 
arrived  in  Upper  Tyrol  and  secretly  installed  themselves 
in  the  tiny  village  of  Reite  at  the  very  foot  of  the  Ehren- 
berg Rock. 

The  Resident  Vesselovsky  declared  "  that  his  Majesty 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  277 

the  Tsar  will  be  exceedingly  hurt  by  the  answer,  given  in 
the  Emperor's  name,  that  a  certain  person  was  not  to  be 
found  in  the  Emperor's  domains,  while  a  messenger  had 
seen  his  retinue  in  Ehrenberg,  where  he  is  kept  at  the 
Emperor's  cost.  Not  only  Captain  Roumiantzev,  but  all 
Europe,  knows  that  the  Tsarevitch  is  within  the  Emperor's 
domains.  Suppose  the  Archduke  should  run  away  from 
his  father  and  find  refuge  in  Russia,  and  this  refuge  be  ac- 
corded to  him  secretly,  how  would  this  affect  the  Emperor  ? 
Would  it  not  be  a  grief  to  him  ?  " 

"  Your  Majesty,"  wrote  Peter  to  the  Emperor,  "  may 
infer  what  we,  as  a  father,  must  feel  in  regard,  to  our 
first-born  son,  who,  showing  us  such  disobedience,  left  us 
without  our  sanction,  and  is  now  kept  under  a  stranger's 
protection  or  arrest,  which  we  know  not.  On  this  point 
we  desire  an  explanation  from  your  Majesty." 

The  Tsarevitch  was  informed  that  the  Emperor  left  it  to 
him  to  decide  whether  he  would  return  to  Russia  or  con- 
tinue under  his  protection.  In  the  latter  case  it  was  obvious 
that  he  must  be  transferred  to  some  remoter  place,  for 
instance  Naples.  At  the  same  time  it  was  hinted  to  Alexis 
that  the  Emperor  wished  him  to  leave  behind  at  Ehrenberg, 
or  quite  dispense  with,  the  company  of  certain  persons  his 
father  had  raised  objections  to  in  his  letter,  and  thus  rob  the 
Tsar  of  any  just  ground  of  complaint  that  the  Emperor  was 
extending  his  protection  to  worthless  creatures.  This  was 
said  with  a  view  to  Afrossinia.  It  really  seemed  unbecom- 
ing for  the  Tsarevitch  to  implore  the  Emperor's  protection 
in  the  name  of  his  dead  wife,  who  was  sister  to  the  Empress, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  bring  with  him  a  woman  with  whom 
it  was  rumoured  he  had  been  allied  even  during  his  wife's 
lifetime. 

Alexis  declared  his  readiness  to  go  wherever  the  Emperor 
sent  him,  and  live  in  whatever  way  the  Emperor  desired, 
provided  he  was  not  delivered  up  to  his  father. 

On  the  15th  of  April,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
Alexis,  in  spite  of  the  spies,  left  Ehrenberg  as  an  imperial 
officer.  He  had  only  one  servant  with  him,  this  was  Afros- 
sinia in  the  disguise  of  a  page. 

"  Our  Neapolitan  pilgrims  have  safely  arrived,"  reported 
Count  Schonborn,  "  I  will  send  my  secretary  at  the  very 


278  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

first  opportunity  with  detailed  description  of  this  joui  ney — 
very  entertaining,  as  might  be  expected.  Our  httle  page, 
among  other  things,  was  discovered  to  be  a  woman,  neither 
married  and  still  less  a  maid.  She  is  declared  to  be  a  mis- 
tress and  indispensably  necessary." 

"  I  take  no  end  of  measures  to  keep  our  company  from 
drinking  so  often  and  so  much,  but  all  effort  is  vain," 
reported  Schonborn's  secretary,  who  was  accompanying 
the  Tsarevitch. 

They  passed  through  Innsbruck,  Mantua,  Florence,and 
Rome.  On  May  6,  1717,  at  midnight,  they  reached  Naples 
and  put  up  at  the  Three  Kings  Hotel.  On  the  eve  of  the 
next  day  the  Tsarevitch  was  taken  in  a  hired  carriage  out- 
side the  town  as  far  as  the  sea,  then  brought  by  a  secret 
way  into  the  castle.  There  he  remained  for  two  days, 
during  which  time  the  chambers  especiaUy  assigned  to 
him  in  the  St.  Elmo  Fortress  were  being  prepared.  The 
fortress  stood  on  a  high  hih  overtowering  Naples. 

Though  here  also  he  lived  as  a  kind  of  prisoner,  yet 
he  did  not  feel  dull  or  oppressed  by  the  fact ;  the  higher 
the  walls,  the  deeper  the  ditch  round  the  fortress,  the  more 
trustworthy  protection  they  were  to  him  from  his  father. 

The  windows  of  his  apartments,  with  a  covered  balcony, 
overlooked  the  sea.  Here  he  spent  whole  days  He  fed, 
just  as  he  used  to  in  Russia,  the  pigeons  which,  flocking 
from  all  sides,  were  soon  tamed  by  him  ;  he  read  historiral 
and  philosophical  books,  chanted  psalms  and  litanies, 
gazed  at  Naples,  Vesuvius,  Ischia,  Procida  and  Capri, 
which  glowed  like  sapphires  in  the  distance  ;  but  by  more 
than  anything  was  he  attracted  by  the  sea  ;  he  could  not 
tear  himself  away  from  looking  at  it.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
this  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  the  sea.  The 
northern  dull  waters  of  Petersburg,  the  sea  of  commerce  and 
war,  so  beloved  by  his  father,  was  quite  unlike  this  southern, 
blue,  boundless  expanse. 

Afrossinia  was  with  him.  When  he  forgot  his  father  he 
was  almost  happy. 

He  was  guarded  with  great  strictness.  He  had  obtained 
however,  after  great  difficulty,  a  pass  for  iEsop  into  St.  Elmo. 
iEsop  had  already  made  himself  indispensable.  He  amused 
Afrossinia,  who  was  often  dull  ;  played  cards  and  draughts 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  279 

with  her,  diverted  her  by  jokes,  tales  and  fables,  thus  acting 
the  part  of  the  real  ^^sop. 

What  iEsop  enjoyed  most  of  all  was  relating  to  the  pair 
his  own  travels  in  Italy.  Alexis  listened  to  him  with  inter- 
est, while  reviving  his  own  impressions.  Much  as  i?isop 
longed  to  return  to  Russia,  much  as  he  missed  the  Russian 
bath  and  vodka,  it  was  evident  that  he  also,  like  the  Tsare- 
vitch,  was  beginning  to  love  the  foreign  country  as  if  it  were 
his  own,  to  love  Russia  as  a  part  of  Europe,  with  a  new  all- 
embracing  love. 

"  The  way  is  extremely  dreary,  and  difficult,"  he  used 
to  narrate,  describing  the  pass  across  the  Alps.  "  The  path 
is  very  narrow ;  on  one  side  mountains  tower  high  as  the 
clouds,  on  the  other  yawn  exceedingly  deep  precipices,  which 
boisterous  torrents  fill  with  incessant  noise  like  watermills. 
And  to  look  down  makes  men  shiver.  Those  hills  are  always 
covered  with  much  snow  because  the  sunbeams  never 
penetrate  among  them. 

"  But  coming  down  we  found,  although  it  was  winter 
in  the  heights,  fair  summer  reigning  in  the  valleys.  Along 
both  sides  of  the  road  a  mass  of  vane  and  fruit  trees,  lemons, 
oranges,  and  among  the  trees  creepers  formed  curious 
figures.  The  whole  of  Italy  seemed  one  great  garden,  an 
image  of  God's  Paradise  !  On  March  7th  we  noticed  fruit  ; 
lemons  and  oranges,  some  ripe,  some  not  quite ;  others 
green,  or  yet  in  the  germ,  and  even  blossoms,  the  same  tree 
bearing  all. 

"  There,  hard  by  the  hills  in  a  pleasant  place  stood  a 
house  called  a  villa,  built  in  a  very  superb  style.  This 
house  is  siuTOunded  by  a  most  beautiful  garden  and 
orchards  ;  people  spend  their  time  in  walking  there.  And 
in  those  gardens  all  the  trees  are  planted  regularly,  even 
the  foliage  is  clipped  in  keeping  with  the  rest.  Flowers 
and  grass  are  sown  in  pots  and  placed  about  according 
to  design.  A  splendid  perspective  is  maintained.  And 
many  a  famous  fountain  is  fitted  up  in  these  gardens  from 
which  springs  extremely  clean  water  in  various  cunning 
ways;  and  along  the  paths,  instead  of  curb-stones,  marble 
men  and  women  are  placed,.  Jove,  Bacchus,  Venus,  and 
other  heathen  gods,  so  well  made  that  they  almost  seem 
alive.     And  there  statues  belonging  to  past  ages  had  been 


28o  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

dug  from  the  earth."  About  Venice  he  recited  such  won- 
ders that  for  a  long  time  Afrossinia  did  not  beheve  him,  and 
confused  Venice  with  a  legendary  town  spoken  of  in  Rus- 
sian tales. 

"  You  are  a  great  inventor,  iEsop,"  she  would  say,  yet 
listened  to  him  with  avidity. 

"Venice  stands  in  the  water;  sea-water  covers  all  the 
streets  and  lanes,  and  boats  are  used  to  go  about  in.  There 
are  no  horses  or  other  beasts  ;  neither.  Madam,  are  there  any 
carriages,  landaus,  carts ;  as  for  sledges  they  have  never  even 
heard  of  them.  In  summer  the  air  is  oppressive,  and  some- 
times filled  with  an  extremely  bad  smell  coming  from  stag- 
nant water,  such  as  we  get  in  Petersburg  from  the  Fontana 
canal  when  it  is  choked  up.  And  all  over  the  town  there 
are  lots  of  carrier  boats,  called  gondolas,  which  are  con- 
structed in  a  pecuHar  manner  :  long  and  narrow  like  those 
made  of  one  tree  trunk,  both  bow  and  stern  are  pointed  : 
an  iron  comb  crowns  the  bow,  and  in  the  miiddle  stands  a 
hut  with  glass  windows  and  damask  curtains  ;  all  the 
gondolas  are  black,  covered  with  black  cloth,  looking 
very  much  like  coffins  ;  as  for  the  oarsmen,  one  of  them 
stands  at  the  bow  while  the  other,  at  the  stern,  rows  and 
steers  with  the  same  oar.  They  have  no  rudders  yet 
manage  perfectly  without  them. 

"  There  are  such  wonderful  operas  and  comedies  played 
in  Venice  !  Beyond  one's  power  to  describe  accurately. 
Nowhere  in  the  whole  world  can  one  meet  with  such  extra- 
ordinary comedies  and  operas.  And  the  halls  in  which 
these  operas  are  performed  are  large  and  round,  the  Italians 
call  them  "  theatrum,"  and  in  these  halls  numerous  closets 
are  fitted  up  five  stories  high  with  ingenious  gilt  work. 
And  in  these  operas  the  ancient  legends  of  heroes,  Greek 
and  Roman  gods  are  represented.  Everyone  has  in  his 
theatre  that  legend  performed  which  he  prefers.  These 
operas  are  frequented  by  people  wearing  masks  so  that  one 
should  not  recognize  another.  Also  during  the  whole  of 
Carnival  time  they  wear  niiisks  and  curious  dresses  ;  every- 
body walks  just  where  it  pleases  them  ;  they  have  music 
on  their  gondolas,  dance,  eat  sweetmeats  and  drink  fine 
lemonades  and  chocolates.  Thus  they  are  constantly 
amusing  themselves  and  are  not  in  the  least  inclined  to  do 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  281 

without  merriment.  These  revels,  though,  often  lead  to  sin  ; 
for  when  they  thus  come  together  all  masked,  many  of  the 
women  and  maidens  without  the  slightest  shame  take 
foreigners  by  the  arm  and  amuse  themselves  without  stint. 

"  The  women  folk  of  Venice  are  extremely  good-looking, 
tall,  slender,  fine  and  well  mannered  ;  they  are  ritsees  and 
dress  extremely  well.  They  despise  manual  labour.  They 
spend  their  time  in  indolence  ;  they  love  pleasure  and  have 
a  weakness  for  carnality,  simply  because  the}'  want  money. 
It  is  their  only  trade.  Many  of  the  wenches  live  in  separate 
houses  and  in  no  way  consider  their  profession  a  thing  to 
blush  at.  Others  who  have  no  houses  of  their  own  live  in 
reparate  streets  in  low  small  chambers  on  the  ground  floor. 
Every  room  has  a  door  leading  straight  into  the  street,  and 
when  they  see  a  man  coming  towards  them  each  one  does 
her  best  to  capture  him.  The  day  that  brings  most  visitors 
is  reckoned  the  happiest.  As  a  consequence  they  suffer  from 
the  French  malady,  and  they  who  visit  tliem  are  soon 
generously  gratified  by  a  share  of  it.  The  clergy  sermonise, 
but  do  not  othenvise  interfere.  They  are  extremely  skilful," 
said  iEsop  meditatively,  "  in  curing  the  French  complaint 
in  Venice." 

The  same  interest  which  he  had  shown  in  his  tales  about 
the  Venetian  revels  appeared  in  his  descriptions  of  various 
Church  miracles  and  holy  relics. 

"  I  was  found  worthy  to  see  a  cross  in  which,  under  glass, 
was  a  bit  of  the  nose  of  St.  John  the  Baptist ;  and  the  relics 
of  St.  Nicolas,  which  produce  the  holy  oil  that  never  dries 
up.  I've  also  seen  the  boiling  blood  of  St.  Januariiis,  and  a 
bone  of  St.  Laurence  himself.  This  bone  is  shut  up  in  a 
crystal  box,  and  when  one  kisses  the  box  one  can  feel  the 
surprising  heat  of  the  bone — through  the  crystal." 

With  equal  wonder  he  would  describe  the  miracles  of 
.science. 

"  At  Padua,  in  the  medical  academy  there  are  embalmed 
children,  bom  before  their  time,  or  else  cut  out  of  their  dead 
mothers  ;  they  float  in  glass  bottles  filled  with  spirit,  and 
thus  can  be  preserved  a  thousand  year,  and  more." 

^sop  was  a  lover  of  everything  classical.  All  the  pro- 
ductions of  the  middle  ages  seemed  barbarous  to  him.  He 
went  into  ecstasies  over  imitations  of  ancient  sculpture, 


282  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

their  symmetry,  their  perfection  of  line,  proportion — all 
his  eye  had  already  got  used  to  in  young  Petersburg.  He 
did  not  like   Florence. 

"  There  are  few  really  splendid,  well  proportioned  houses. 
All  Florentine  houses  are  of  an  older  date.  One  does  occa- 
sionally come  across  palaces  three  or  four  stories  high,  but 
their  style  is  plain,  not  in  the  least  architectural." 

He  was  most  of  all  struck  with  Rome.  He  spoke  about 
it  with  that  almost  superstitious  feeling  of  reverence  which 
the  Eternal  City  always  rouses  in  Barbarians. 

"  Rome  is  really  a  great  city.  Even  to  this  day  the 
boundaries  of  ancient  Rome  can  be  traced  and  thus  the  vast 
dimensions  of  the  old  city  revealed.  Districts,  once  in  the 
very  centre  of  Rome,  are  now  fields  and  ploughland,  sown 
with  wheat,  planted  with  vineyards,  or  else  used  as  pastur- 
age for  buffalos,  oxen  and  sundry  other  cattle. 

"  Many  an  ancient  edifice,  ruined  with  age,  lies  scattered 
on  these  fields,  even  in  its  ruins  revealing  a  master's  hand 
acquainted  with  symmetry,  such  as  is  no  longer  met  with. 
And  from  the  mountains  leading  up  to  Rome  are  seen 
ancient  stone  pillars  connected  by  arches  ;  they  bear  a 
stone  trough  which  held  the  extremely  pure  spring  water 
coming  from  the  hills.  And  those  pillars  are  called 
aqueducts,  and  the  fields  the  '  Campagna  di  Roma.'  " 

The  Tsarevitch  had  had  onh'  a  glimpse  at  Rome,  but 
now,  as  he  sat  listening  to  ^sop,  it  seemed  some  awful 
shadow  of  indescribable  grandeur  was  sweeping  past  him. 

"  In  these  fields,"  went  on  ^sop,  "among  the  ruins  of 
Roman  buildings  there  is  an  entrance  to  some  caves.  In 
these  caves  Christians  sought  refuge  in  times  of  persecu- 
tions and  were  tortured,  and  even  unto  this  davmany  a 
martyr's  bones  remain  there.  These  caves,  called  cata- 
combs, are  so  large  that,  it  is  said,  they  have  underground 
passages  leading  to  the  sea,  besides  many  others  not  yet 
explored.  And  close  to  these  catacombs,  in  a  tiny,  solitary 
church  stands  an  extremely  large  coffin — a  sarcophagus — of 
Bacchus,  hewn  out  of  porphyry  stone.  This  sarcophagus 
tomb  is  emptv.  I-ong,  long  ago,  runs  the  legend,  it  con- 
tained an  incorruptible  body  of  indescribable  beauty,  which, 
by  a  trick  of  the  devil,  bore  the  likeness  of  the  pagan  god 
Bacchus.     The  holy  men  threw  this  foul  thing  away,  hal- 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  283 

lowed  the  spot  and  built  a  church  upon  it.  .  .  .  Then  I  came 
to  another  place  called  the  Colosseum,  where  the  ancient 
Roman  Emperors,  who  persecuted  the  Christians,  offered 
holy  martyrs  as  a  prey  to  wild  beasts.  The  place  is  round, 
very  huge,  would  measure  about  forty  yards  in  height  ;  the 
walls  are  made  of  stone.  On  them  the  ancient  torturers 
would  walk  watching  the  animals  tear  the  holy  martyrs  to 
pieces.  Under  these  walls  on  the  ground  are  stone  caves 
where  the  animals  lived.  St.  Ignatius  was  devoured  in 
this  Colosseum,  and  every  bit  of  its  soil  is  stained  with 
the  blood  of  martyrs." 

The  Tsarevitch  remembered  how,  in  his  childhood,  he 
was  repeatedly  told  that,  in  the  whole  world,  Russia  alone 
was  a  holy  land  and  all  the  other  peoples  were  pagans.  He 
also  remembered  how  he  himself  had  once  said  to  Fraulein 
Arnheim,  standing  on  the  pigeon-house  in  Roshdestveno  : 
"  We  alone  have  Christ."  "  Is  this  true  ?  "  he  now  asked 
himself.  What  if  they  also  have  Christ,  and  not  only 
Russia  ?  What  if  all  Europe  were  holy  land  ?  The  soil  in 
that  place  is  all  stained  with  martyr's  blood.  Can  such  a 
place   be  pagan  ?  " 

He  was  convinced  that  the  third  Rome,  as  Moscow  was 
occasionally  termed,  was  as  far  off  the  first,  real  Rome,  as 
Petersburg  was  from  the  real  Europe. 

"  At  .a  time  when  Moscow  was  not  even  thought  of," 
declared  ^F^sop,  "  there  were  many  empires  in  the  west 
older  and  greater  than  Moscow." 

The  words  with  which  he  concluded  a  description  of  the 
Venetian  Carnival  remained  in  the  Tsarevitch's  memory. 

"  Thus  they  all  amuse  themselves  and  think  no  evil  of 
one  another,  neither  do  they  tear  anybody.  Everyone 
does  as  best  pleases  him.  And  such  freedom  is  always 
maintained  in  Venice,  and  the  Venetians  live  in  peace,  with- 
out fear  of  insult,  and  without  heavy  taxation." 

The  implication  was  clear ;  their  life  is  very  different  from 
ours  in  Russia,  where  no  one  dares  even  so  much  as  hint 
at  freedom. 

"  In  all  European  nations  one  course  of  action  is  especi- 
ally commiCndable,"  remarked  ^sop  one  day,  "and that  is 
with  regard  to  education.  The  children  are  not  treated 
brutally  either  by  parents  or  teachers ;  but  with  the  help  of 


284  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

kindly  or  else  sharp  rebuke  alone,  which  have  been  found 
more  effective  than  blows,  they  are  brought  up  in  the  spirit 
of  freedom  and  courage.  And  being  aware  of  this,  Moscow 
people  would  not  send  their  children  to  be  educated  in 
foreign  parts,  afraid  lest,  once  acquainted  with  the  faith  and 
customs  and  beneficent  freedom  of  other  countries,  they 
should  change  their  rehgion  and  neither  desire  nor  think  of 
returning  home.  They  do  send  them  nowadays,  but 
what's  the  good  of  it?  For  as  the  bird  can't  live  without  air, 
knowledge  can't  prosper  without  freedom  ;  and  with  us  they 
try  to  teach  new  things  in  the  old  way.  The  stick,  though 
dumb,  is  still  expected  to  impart  knowledge." 

Thus  both  of  them,  the  fugitive  naval  apprentice  and  the 
fugitive  Tsarevitch,  confusedly  felt,  that  the  Europeanism 
which  Peter  was  introducing  into  Russia — calculation,  navi- 
gation, fortifications — was  not  the  whole  of  Europe,  nor  even 
European  in  its  essential  characteristic ;  the  real  Europe 
possessed  a  higher  truth,  not  yet  revealed  to  the  Tsar. 
And  without  this  truth,  in  spite  of  all  knowledge,  the  old 
Moscow  barbarism  would  only  be  supplanted  by  a  new 
Petersburg  vulgarity.  To  this  blessed  mysterious  liberty  it 
was  that  the  Tsarevitch  addressed  him.self  in  summoning 
Europe  to  judge  between  him  and  his  father. 

One  day  ^sop  told  the  "  history  of  the  Russian  sailor  Basil 
Koriotsky  and  the  beautiful  Florentine  Princess  Irakh," 

To  the  listeners,  and  perhaps  to  the  narrator  himself, 
the  meaning  of  the  story  was  obscure  and  yet  mysteriously 
suggestive.  The  marriage  of  a  Russian  sailor  with  a  Prin- 
cess of  Florence — of  the  land  where  the  Renaissance  had  its 
springtimie,  the  most  beautiful  flower  of  European  liberty — 
was  a  prophetic  vision  of  the  unknown,  yet  approaching, 
union  of  Russia  with  Europe. 

The  Tsarevitch  in  listening  to  the  story  thought  of  a  pic- 
ture his  father  had  brought  from  Holland  :  the  Tsar  in  a 
sailor  suit  embracing  a  buxom  Dutch  wench.  Alexis  could 
not  help  smiling  at  the  thought  that  this  red-faced  girl  was 
as  remote  from  the  Florentine  Princess,  "  who  was  bright 
as  the  unveiled  sun,"  as  new  Russia  was  from,  what  she 
ought  to  be. 

"  T  dare  say  your  sailor  chd  not  return  to  Russia,"  Alexis 
asked. 


THE   FUGITIVE   TSAREVITCH  285 

"  'WTiy  should  he  ?  "  grunted  ^sop,  with  a  sudden  indiffer- 
ence towards  the  Russia  he  had  only  so  lately  sighed 
for.  "  In  Petersburg  he  would  probably  have  had  the  cat- 
o'-nine-tails,  and  then  been  sent  off  to  Rogerwick  ;  while  the 
Florentine  Princess  would  have  been  stuck  into  the  weaving 
yard  for  a  prostitute." 

But  Afrossinia  suddenly  interposed  : — 

"  Well,  now  you  see,  ^Esop,  what  your  sailor  gained  by 
his  education.  Had  he  run  away  from  his  teacher,  as  you 
have,  he  would  never  have  gained  the  Princess.  What  is 
the  good  of  praising  the  freedom  of  this  country  ?  The 
mountain-ash  berries  are  not  meant  for  a  crow's  beak.  To 
grant  you  freedom  is  to  make  you  good  for  nothing.  How 
else  can  you  be  taught  but  with  a  stick,  seeing  you  won't 
learn  of  your  own  free  will  ?  Thanks  be  to  our  father  the 
Tsar.     You  only  get  your  deserts." 


CHAPTER    III 

Quiet  River  Don, 
Loved  father  mine, 
Wash  thou  me  ! 
Earth  so  cool  and  moist, 
Loved  mother  mine, 
Cover  me  !  " 

A  F  ROSSINI  A  was  singing,  sitting  at  her  window  in  the 
fortress  of  St.  Elmo.  She  was  busily  unpicKing  the  red 
damask  hning  of  her  sand-coloured  suit  of  disguise  ;  noth- 
ing on  earth,  she  had  declared,  would  ever  induce  her  to 
deck  herself  out  in  this  ridiculous  manner  again. 

She  wore  a  dirty  silk  gown  with  all  the  buttons  torn  off ; 
on  her  naked  feet  slipp'^rs.  embroidered  in  silver  and  worn 
down  at  the  heels.  The  pewter  workbox  before  her  con- 
tained various  bits  of  stuff  and  ribbon,  a  small  fan,  gloves, 
love  letters  written  by  the  Tsarevitch,  envelopes  with 
scented  powder,  an  amulet  given  her  by  a  saintly  old 
man,  "  poudre  Marechal  "  from  the  celebrated  hairdresser 
Frisson,  of  Rue  Saint  Honore,  a  rosary  from  Mount  Athos, 
Parisian  beauty- patches,  and  jars  of  pomade  ;  she  spent 
hours  in  painting  her  face,  which  was  absolutely  unneces- 
sary, as  her  com.plexion  was  faultless.  The  Tsarevitch  sat 
at  the  same  table  writing  letters,  which  were  destined  to 
be  anonymously  circulated  in  Petersburg,  and  also  handed 
to  archdeacons  and  senators. 

"Honoured  Gentlemen  of  the  Senate, — 

"  Your  lordships,  as  well  as  the  whole  Russian  nation, 
I  presume,  m^ust  be  surprised  at  my  unexplained  absence 
and  the  mystery  which  surrounds  me.  My  conduct  was 
prompted  by  the  way  in  which  my  behaviour  was  per- 
sistently misunderstood,  and  especially  by  what  has  hap- 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  287 

pened  since  the  beginning  of  last  year,  when  I  was  almost 
forced  to  take  the  monk's  habit,  without  any  misdeed  on 
my  part,  a  fact  which  is  well  known  to  everybody.  But 
the  all  merciful  Lord,  moved  by  the  prayers  of  the  Holy 
Virgin,  comforter  of  all  the  afflicted,  and  all  the  saints  pro- 
tected me  and  gave  me  shelter  away  from  my  beloved 
country,  which,  but  for  this  sad  occasion,  I  would  never 
have  left.  At  present  I  am  in  good  heath,  under  the 
protection  of  a  powerful  Emperor,  until  the  time  when  the 
Lord,  who  saved  me,  will  command  me  to  return  to  Russia, 
in  which  case  I  ask  you  to  stand  by  me. 

"  If  any  report  is  circulated  about  me  with  the  view  of 
uprooting  my  memory  from  the  minds  of  the  people,  if,  for 
instance,  it  is  said,  that  I  am  no  longer  among  the  living, 
or  that  some  other  mischief  has  befallen  me,  believe  it  not, 
and  Iso  try  to  prevent  the  nation  believing  it.  Alive  by 
God's  protection,  I  remain,  wishing  you  and  the  whole 
nation  well. 

"  Faithfully  yours,  to  my  grave, 

"Alexis." 

He  glanced  through  the  open  door  of  the  balcony  towards 
the  sea,  which  lay  quivering  below  the  fresh  north  breeze. 
A  haze  seemed  to  rise  from  the  boiling  deep,  shrouding  the 
sparkling  surge  and  the  white  sails,  like  the  breasts  of 
proud  swans.  The  Tsarevitch  mused  that  this  was  the 
same  blue  sea  which  took  Gleg  and  his  "  droushina  "  to 
Constantinople  and  which  is  sung  about  in  the  Russian  lore. 

He  took  out  a  couple  of  folded  leaflets  filled  with  his 
own  laboured  handwriting  in  German.  There  was  a  note 
on  the  margin,  "  f  xcuse  my  bad  writing,  but  I  have  done 
my  best."  This  was  a  long  letter  addressed  to  the  Emperor, 
an  accusation  against  his  father  He  had  begun  it  some 
time  ago,  but  was  always  altering  it,  crossing  out,  re-writing, 
and  somehow  or  other  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  finish 
it.  What  seemed  right  in  thought  no  longer  appeared  so 
when  expressed  in  words.  There  was  some  insurmountable 
barrier  between  thought  and  expression,  and  no  words 
could  be  found  to  convey  adequately  the  essential  point. 

He  revised  some  stray  passages  : 

"  The  Emperor  must  save  me.     I  am  innocent  before  my 


288  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

father.  I  have  always  loved,  honoured  and  obeyed  him 
according  to  God's  law.  I  know  I  am  only  a  weakling, 
but  the  fault  lies  with  Menshikov's  training.  He  never 
taught  me  anything ;  always  tried  to  separate  me  from  my 
father,  and  throughout  treated  me  no  better  than  some 
serf  or  a  dog.  They  did  their  best  to  make  a  drunkard  of 
me.  My  spirit  was  broken  by  continuous  drunkenness  and 
persecution.  Albeit,  my  father  on  occasion  used  to  be 
kind  to  me.  He  entrusted  me  with  administration ;  all 
for  a  time  went  well  and  he  was  pleased  with  me.  But 
ever  since  my  wife  began  bearing  children — the  new 
Tsaritsa  had  also  borne  a  son — they  began  to  treat  the 
Crown  Princess  badly,  forced  her  to  perform  the  duties  of  a 
servant,  and  she  died  of  grief.  Then  Menshikov  and  the 
Tsaritsa  systematically  irritated  and  set  my  father 
against  me.  They  are  both  filled  with  malice,  knowing 
neither  God  nor  conscience.  If  left  to  himself,  the  Tsar  is 
kind  and  just  ;  but  he  is  surrounded  by  intriguers,  while  at 
the  same  time  he  is  incredibly  passionate  ;  he  believes  that 
like  God,  he  has  the  right  of  life  and  death.  He  has  shed 
much  innocent  blood,  and  often  he  has  tortured  and  put 
victims  to  death  with  his  own  hands.  If  the  Emperor 
were  to  deliver  me  to  my  father,  it  would  be  my  certain 
death.  Even  should  my  father  spare  me,  my  stepmother 
and  Menshikov  would  not  rest  until  they  succeed  in 
killing  me  either  by  drink  or  poison.  The  abdication  of  the 
throne  was  extorted  rom  me  ;  I  have  no  desire  to  become 
a  monk  ;  I  have  sufficient  brains  to  govern.  God  is  a 
witness  that  I  never  even  so  much  as  contemplated  rousing 
the  people  to  revolt,  though  it  would  have  been  an  easy 
task  for  me  to  do  so.  The  people  are  affectionate  towards 
me,  and  dislike  my  father  for  his  unworthy  wife,  his 
cruel  and  debauched  favourites,  the  desecration  of  chun  hes 
and  the  abolition  of  old  customs,  and  also  because  he 
spares  neither  money  nor  blood,  because  he  is  the  tyrant 
and  enemy  of  his  people." 

"  Enemy  of  his  people  ?  "  repeated  the  Tsarevitch.  He 
thought  over  his  words,  then  crossed  them  out ;  they  no 
longer  seemed  true.  He  was  well  aware  of  his  father's 
love  for  the  nation,  though  this  love  was  often  more 
pitiless  than  hatred  :    a  loving  father  does  not  spare  the 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  289 

rod.  It  were  almost  better  if  he  loved  less.  He  loved 
him,  his  son,  also.  But  for  this  love  he  would  not  chastise 
or  torture  him.  And  again,  as  always,  when  re-reading 
this  letter  he  vaguely  felt  that  it  was  just  and  yet  not 
completely  just.  Wholly  guiltless  ?  Wholly  guilty  ?  there 
was  an  imperceptible  shade  of  discrimination  still  to  observe 
in  order  to  keep  the  balance  true  ;  he  seemed  to  always, 
though  unconsciouslj^  fail  to  seize  this  fine  line  of 
justice  in  his  accusations  Each  of  them  seemed  to  grasp 
a  distinct  truth ;  and  the  two  truths  were  doomed 
to  remain  eternally  contradictory,  eternally  irreconcilable. 
It  was  impossible  for  both  him  and  his  father  to  remain 
supreme.  Yet  it  mattered  little  which  of  the  pair  gained 
ascendancy,  the  conqueror  would  always  be  in  the  right, 
the  conquered  in  the  wrong. 

And  he  himself  could  only  vaguely  formulate  all  this  to 
himself,  much  less  could  he  explain  it  to  others  ;  and  even 
then,  who  could  understand  or  would  believe  him?  Who 
except  God  could  judge  between  father  and  son  ? 

Laying  the  letter  on  one  side  with  a  heavy  heart,  with 
a  secret  longing  to  destroy  it,  he  sat  listening  to 
Afrossinia's  song.  She  had  finished  her  work,  and  was 
now  standing  before  a  mirror,  trying  to  adjust  her  new 
French  face-patches.  This  continuous,  subdued  singing 
all  through  the  monotonous  days  of  her  prison  life,  seemed 
as  involuntary  as  the  singing  of  a  caged  bird.  She  sang 
as  she  breathed,  unconsciously.  Yet  the  Tsarevitch  could 
not  help  feeling  a  quaint  contrast  between  this  playing  with 
French  patches  and  the  melancholy  Russian  song  : — 


Earth  so  cool  and  moist, 

Loved  mother  mine, 

Cover  me ! 

Forest  nightingale, 

Loved   brother  mine, 

Sing  of  me  ! 

Cuckoo,  viroodland  bird. 

Loved  sister  mine. 

Call  for  me  ! 

Birch,  as  white  and  slender 

As  a  fair  young  maiden. 

Rustle  thou  for  me  '. 


290  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Along  the  echoing  passages  of  the  fortress  steps  were 
heard,  the  call  of  sentinels,  the  noise  of  locks  and  bolts. 
The  officer  on  duty  knocked  at  the  door,  and  announced 
Weingart,  the  secretary  of  the  Imperial  Viceroy  in 
Naples. 

An  asthmatical,  stout  man  entered  the  room  with 
many  bows  ;  his  face  was  the  colour  of  raw  beef,  the  under 
lip  drooped,  his  small  eyes  like  those  of  a  pig  seemed  lost 
in  his  fat  face.  As  with  many  rascals,  he  had  an  artless 
good-natured  look  about  him.  ^Esop's  verdict  on  him  was, 
"  a  wily  beast  !  " 

Weingart  presented  the  Tsarevitch  with  a  case  of 
Moselle  ;  observing  the  incognito,  he  addressed  him  as 
"  His  Excellency  the  Count."  For  Afrossinia,  whose  hand 
he  kissed  with  much  gallantry,  he  had  brought  a  basket  of 
fruit  and  flowers.  At  the  same  time  he  handed  over 
letters  which  had  arrived  from  Russia  and  communicated 
a  verbal  message  from  Vienna  : — 

"  In  Vienna  they  were  pleased  to  learn  that  His  Excellency 
the  Count  was  enjoying  good  health.  Much  patience  is 
required,  and  now  more  than  ever.  The  latest  piece  of 
news,  which  might  be  of  interest,  is  a  rumour  apparently 
fast  gaining  ground,  that  the  Tsarevitch  has  disappeared. 
Some  suppose  he  escaped  from  his  father's  cruelty,  others 
believe  he  has  been  put  to  death  by  the  Tsar's  instigation, 
others  again  fear  he  has  fallen  among  murderers  and  lost 
his  life  on  the  journey.  But  no  one  knows  precisely  where 
he  is.  Here  is  a  report  of  the  Imperial  Resident  Pleyer 
to  that  effect,  if  your  Excellency  is  at  all  curious  as  to  what 
are  the  current  views  in  Petersburg  on  the  subject.  The 
Emperor's  exact  message  is  as  follows  :  '  We  advuse  our 
beloved  Tsarevitch,  for  his  own  good,  to  observe  strictest 
incognito,  for,  on  his  return  to  Petersburg,  the  Tsar  will 
inaugurate  a  thorough  investigation.'  " 

Then  stooping  down  to  Alexis  he  whispered  in  his  ear  : — 

"  Fear  not,  your  Highness !  My  information  comes 
from  most  reliable  quarters.  The  Emperor  will  not  forsake 
you ;  and  should  there  be  need  for  it  after  your  father's 
death,  he  is  prepared  to  help  you  to  the  throne  with  armed 
force." 

"  No  !  no  !  what  are  you  talking  about  }  "  The  Tsarevitch 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  291 

stopped  him,  that  feeling  again  taking  possession  of 
him  which  a  few  moments  since  had  prompted  him  to 
lay  the  Emperor's  letter  aside,  "  I  do  hope  for  God's  sake 
it  will  never  come  to  that  !  war  will  never  be  caused  by  me. 
It  is  not  this  I  asked  you  for,  only  your  protection.  I  did 
not  even  desire  anything  else.  However,  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you.  May  God  reward  the  Emperor  for  the 
kindness  he  has  shown  to  me  !  " 

He  ordered  one  of  the  Moselle  bottles  to  be  opened,  in 
order  to  drink  the  Emperor's  health.  He  went  out  of  the 
room  to  fetch  some  important  letters,  and  on  his  return 
he  found  Weingart  engaged  in  politely  explaining  to 
Afrossinia,  more  by  signs  it  is  true  than  by  words,  that 
she  did  wrong  in  giving  up  her  man's  clothes  which  had  so 
admirably  suited  her. 

"  L' Amour  meme  ne  saurait  se  presenter  avec  plus  de 
graces,"  he  concluded  in  French,  fixing  on  her  with  his 
little  pig's  eyes  that  look  which  was  so  particularly  odious 
to  the  Tsarevitch. 

When  Weingart  was  announced,  Afrossinia  had  hastened 
to  alter  her  outward  appearance.  Thus  he  found  her 
wearing  a  beautiful  new  damask  surcoat,  which  concealed 
her  dirty  dressing  gown  ;  a  cap  of  loveliest  Brabant  lace 
covered  her  dishevelled  hair  ;  she  had  powdered  herself, 
and  had  even  found  time  to  fix  a  beauty  spot  above  her 
left  eyebrow,  as  she  had  noticed  a  Parisian  courtesan  wear 
hers  in  Rome  driving  in  the  Corso.  The  expression  of  dul- 
ness  had  disappeared  from  her  face  ;  she  had  brightened 
up  ;  though  she  understood  not  a  word  of  either  French  or 
German,  she  knew  full  well  that  Weingart  was  talking 
about  her  recent  disguise.  She  smiled  roguishly,  blushed 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  sleeve  after  the  manner  of  a  Russian 
peasant  girl. 

"  With  this  German,  a  pig's  carcass,  the  Lord  forgive 
me  !  she  has  found  a  nice  person  to  flirt  with,"  the  Tsare- 
vitch thought,  annoyed.  "  Ah,  bah  !  it's  all  the  same  to 
her ;  all  she  requires  is  some  novelty,  anything  will  do  so 
long  as  it  is  new.  Eve's  daughters  are  all  alike.  A  woman, 
a  devil,  they  keep  the  balance  even." 

After  Weingart  had  gone,  Alexis  began  reading  the 
letters  ;   the  most  important  was  Pleyer's  report. 


292  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  The  regiments  of  the  Guard,  which  consist  for  the 
most  part  of  nobles,  together  with  the  rest  of  the  army, 
have  organized  plot  in  Mecklenburg :  they  propose 
killing  the  Tsar,  bringing  the  present  Tsaritsa  and  her 
three  children  back  here  where  they  will  be  shut  up  in  the 
same  convent  which  for  so  long  has  cloistered  the  former 
Tsaritsa,  who  will  be  liberated,  and  the  government  en- 
trusted to  her  son,  the  legitimate  heir." 

The  Tsarevitch  tossed  off  two  glasses  of  Moselle  and 
began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room,  murmuring  some- 
thing to  himself,  and  gesticulating  with  his  arms.  Afros- 
sinia's  eyes  were  following  him  silently  and  intently,  while 
apparently  quite  indifferent.  After  Weingart  had  left, 
her  face  had  lapsed  into  its  habitual  expression  of  dulness. 

At  last,  pausing  in  front  of  her,  he  exclaimed  : — 

"  Well,  dearest,  soon  all  the  dainties  you  desire  shall  be 
at  your  disposal.  This  is  good  news  !  God  will  soon  grant 
us  a  safe  and  joyous  return  !  " 

He  carefully  explained  to  her  Pleyer's  report.  The 
last  words  he  read  out  in  German,  they  evidently  delighted 
him  beyond  measure,  "  Alles  zum  Auf stand  allhier  sehr 
geneiget  ist — All  here  are  greatly  inclined  to  revolt.  There 
is  a  general  complaint  about  nobles  and  peasants  being 
treated  alike,  made  without  distinction  to  serve  in  the 
army  and  navy.  As  to  the  villages,  they  are  positively 
ruined  by  the  building  of  ships  and  towns." 

Afrossinia  listened  without  a  word  of  comment,  her 
face  manifesting  the  same  dull  indifference,  and  only  when 
he  had  finished,  she  asked  in  her  characteristic,  languid, 
lazy  tone  : — 

"  Alexis,  suppose  th-;  Tsar  is  killed  and  you  are  sent 
for,  will  you  side  with  the  revolutionists  ?  " 

She  glanced  at  him  sideways,  with  a  look  which,  had  he 
not  been  so  entirely  preoccupied  with  his  own  thoughts, 
would  have  amazed  him,  or  even  made  him  aware  of  a 
secret  sting  in  this  question  ;    but  he  noticed  nothing. 

"  I  don't  quite  know  yet,"  he  answered,  after  a  short 
silence.  "  Should  the  summons  come,  I  might  side  with 
them.      But   why  build  on  probabilities  ?      God's  will  be 

done "     He   stopped  short,  as  if  now  only  realizing 

what  he  was  saying.  "  I  only  tell  you  this,  Afrossinia,  to 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  293 

show  you  how  God  works.  My  father  plans  one  course, 
God  follows  His  own  !  " 

Exhausted  with  joy  he  sank  into  a  chair,  and,  oblivious 
of  Afrossinia's  presence,  began  talking  to  himself. 

"  There  is  printed  information  that  the  Swedish  fleet 
has  started  for  the  Lithuanian  shores  to  land  troops.  If 
this  be  true,  great  mischief  will  ensue.  In  Petersburg  our 
Senators  and  Prince  Menshikov  will  not  work  harmoniously 
together ;  and  meanwhile  our  main  forces  are  far  away  ; 
there  are  quarrels  and  rivalries,  the  Swedes  will  be  able  to 
do  great  mischief.  Petersburg  lies  within  their  reach  ; 
mind  we  don't  lose  it  as  we  lost  Azov.  Either  the  Swedes 
will  take  it  from  us,  or  else  of  itself  it  will  fall  into  ruins. 
"  Petersburg  will  be  destroyed,  destroyed  !  "  he  repeated 
with  gusto  his  aunt's  habitual  prophecy. 

"  And  this  apparent  lull  is  also  a  bad  omen.  My  uncle, 
Abraham  Lopoukhin,  writes  that  people  of  all  ranks  and 
classes  inquire  after  me,  sympathize  with  me,  and  are 
ready  to  stand  by  me  ;  that  there  is  already  beginning  a 
ferment  round  Moscow,  also  lower  down  along  the  Volga, 
the  people  will  not  remain  unaffected.  Is  this  to  be 
wondered  at  ?  Have  they  not  remained  patient  for  so 
long  !  Ah,  but  it  won't  pass  by  this  time  !  I  am  sure  their 
longsuffering  will  give  out,  and  they  will  act  in  some  way 
or  other.  Add  to  this  the  conspiracy  in  Mecklenburg,  the 
Swedes,  the  Emperor,  myself.  Calamity  threatens  on  all 
sides  !  the  whole  edifice  is  crumbling,  tottering.  It  will, 
indeed,  be  a  severance.  Ah  !  father  !  you  won't  have  the 
best  of  it  !  " 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  himself  to  be  a  power, 
dangerous  to  his  father.  Joy  was  again  well-nigh  stifling 
him,  as  on  that  memoiable  night,  during  Peter's  illness, 
when,  behind  the  frosted  window  in  the  moonlight,  a  wild 
turbulent  snowstorm,  a  luminous  blue  chaos,  was  tossing 
itself  about  as  in  some  mad  deliriumx.  Joy  had  intoxicated 
him  even  more  than  the  wine  of  which  he  continued  to 
drink  glass  after  glass,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  distant  sea, 
also  blue,  luminous,  and  as  it  were  throbbing  with  mad 

joy. 

"  In  the  German  papers  it  is  reported  that  my  youngest 
brother,  Petinka,  had  a  narrow  escape  from  being  killed 


294  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Vy  a  thunderbolt  this  summer  at  Peterhof.  The  nurse, 
who  was  carrying  him,  almost  died  from  the  shock  ;  the 
soldier  in  attendance  was  actually  killed.  The  babe's 
health  has  suffered  ever  since.  And  yet  what  attention, 
what  care  has  been  bestowed  on  him  !  It  is  evident  he 
won't  live  long.  Poor  Petinka  !  his  young  soul  is  innocent 
before  God.  He  is  suffering,  not  for  his  own,  but  for  his 
parents'  sins.  Lord  have  mercy  upon  him.  Here  again 
is  a  clear  manifestation  of  God's  will.  I  cannot  understand 
how  my  father  does  not  see  it.  It  is  awful  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  living  God  !  " 

"  Who  of  the  senators  will  espouse  your  cause  ?  "  sud- 
denly queried  Afrossinia  ;  again  that  same  strange  spark 
flashed  in  her  eyes  and  instantly  died,  as  if  a  candle  had 
been  carried  behind  a  curtain. 

"  And  why  should  you  trouble  your  head  about  it  ?  " 
The  Tsarevitch  looked  at  her  with  surprise,  he  seemed  to 
have  entirely  forgotten  her  presence,  and  only  now  realized 
that  she  had  been  listening  to  him  the  whole  time.  Afros- 
sinia did  not  repeat  her  question  ;  yet  they  both  felt 
that  a  scarcely  perceptible  cloud  had  passed  between  them. 

"Though  they  are  not  all  my  enemies,  yet  being  cowards, 
and  hankering  after  my  father's  goodwill,  they  all  pretend 
they  are."  continued  the  Tsarevitch.  "Never  mind,  I  am 
in  no  particular  need  of  them.  I  spit  upon  them  all,  if  only 
the  common  people  are  staunch  to  me  !  "  This  was  his 
favourite  expression.  "  When  Tsar,  I  will  turn  all  the  old 
senators  out  and  replace  them  by  new  ones  of  my  own 
choice.  I  will  lighten  the  peasants'  burden,  give  them  a 
chance  to  breathe.  I  will  reduce  the  Boyars'  snug  incomes  ; 
they  have  been  fattening  on  them  for  long  enough  ;  I 
will  provide  for  the  peasantry,  the  weaker  and  poorer. 
They  are  the  lesser  brethren  of  Christ.  I  will  institute  a 
Church  and  a  Zemski  Sobor  drawn  from  all  classes :  let 
everybody  freely  and  fearlessly  inform  the  Tsar  of  what  is 
true,  so  that  both  State  and  Church  could  be  reformed  by  a 
general  council  and  under  the  guidance  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
henceforth  and  for  ever  more." 

He  dreamt  aloud,  and  his  dreams  grew  more  and  more 
misty,  less  and  less  real.  Suddenly  a  cruel,  poignant 
thought  stung  his  heart  like  a  gadfly  :    "All  this  is  idle 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  295 

talk,  nothing  like  it  will  ever  happen.  The  blue  tit  spread 
his  own  fame  far  and  wide,  yet  when  it  came  to  action  he 
failed  to  set  the  sea  on  fire." 

He  saw  himself  side  by  side  with  his  father,  the  giant 
who  was  forging  a  new  Russia  ;  while  he  with  his  dreams 
was  but  a  boy  blowing  soap-bubbles.  How  could  he  possi- 
bly vie  with  his  father  ? 

But  he  resolutely  shook  this  thought  off  like  some  tire- 
some fiy.  Nothing  can  happen  without  God's  will.  Let 
my  father  go  on  forging  his  iron — he  only  does  what  pleases 
him — meanwhile  God  has  His  own  purpose.  The  iron  will 
burst  like  a  soap  bubble,  if  God  wills  it. 

The  Tsarevitch  again  abandoned  himself  to  visions. 
The  sense  of  power  had  given  way  to  a  general  feeling  of 
languid  weakness.  With  a  smile,  more  and  more  serene, 
he  sat  listening,  as  in  a  trance,  to  the  dull  roaring  of  the 
sea  ;  and  there  was  something  familiar  in  the  roaring  ;  some- 
thing he  had  heard  long  ago  seemed  again  to  strike  his 
ear  ;  was  it  his  grandmother's  lullaby  ?  or  was  it  the 
siren  bird  pouring  forth  her  melodious  strains  ? 

"  And  after  I  have  provided  for  the  country  and  eased 
the  lot  of  the  peasants,  I  will  set  out  with  a  large  army  and 
fleet  for  Constantinople,  drive  away  the  Turk,  free  the 
Slavs  from  the  yoke  of  the  unfaithful,  and  reinstate  the 
cross  on  St.  Sophia.  Then  I  will  call  an  oecumenical 
council  to  bring  about  the  union  of  all  churches  ;  I  will 
give  peace  to  the  world,  and  nations  from  all  corners  of  the 
world  will  flock  towards  St.  Sophia,  the  Wisdom  of  God, 
unto  the  holy  kingdom,  to  meet  the  coming  Christ." 

Afrossinia  had  long  since  left  off  listening  ;  she  had  been 
continuously  yawning  and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross 
over  her  mouth.  At  last  she  got  up,  stretching  and 
scratching  herself.  "  I  feel  tired;  waiting  for  that  German 
this  afternoon  cost  me  my  sleep.  Hadn't  I  better  go  to 
bed,  Alexis  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  one,  do  go,  God  protect  you.  I  too  may 
come  after  a  while  ;   only  I  must  first  feed  the  doves." 

She  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  their  bedchamber, 
while  the  Tsarevitch  went  out  on  the  balcony,  where  the 
doves  were  already  collecting,  waiting  to  be  fed.  He 
threw  some  crumbs  and  grains  to  them,  calling  in  a  low 


296  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

gentle  voice  -  "  Coo !  coo !  coo ! "  And  just  as  in  Roshdest- 
veno,  the  doves  flocked  to  his  feet,  wheeled  in  circles 
over  his  head,  perched  on  his  shoulders  and  arms,  covered 
him  as  it  were  with  wings.  He  looked  down  upon  the 
sea  :  in  the  tremulous  waving  of  wings  he  imagined  he  was 
flying  away  into  that  boundless  space,  across  the  blue  deep, 
towards  the  luminous,  bright  Hagia  Sophia,  the  Wisdom 
of  God.  The  sensation  of  flight  was  so  real,  that  his  heart 
sank  and  his  head  grew  dizzy.  He  got  frightened.  He 
closed  his  eyes,  and  convulsively  gripped  the  balustrade. 
It  seemed  to  him  he  no  longer  was  flying,  but  falling. 

With  faltering  steps  he  returned  to  the  room.  At  the 
same  moment  Afrossinia  came  in  ;  she  had  undressed,  and 
was  wearing  nothing  but  her  chemise  ;  climbing  on  to  a 
chair  she  trimmed  the  little  lamp  before  the  holy  image. 
It  was  an  old  representation  of  the  Mother  of  all  the  Sorrow- 
ing, beloved  by  the  Tsarevitch,  who  never  parted  from  it. 

"  What  a  fault  !  To-morrow  is  the  Heavenly  Queen's 
Assumption,  and  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  Fancy 
leaving  her,  our  Lady,  without  a  lamp  !  Will  you  read 
the  lauds,  Alexis  ?     Shall  I  get  the  reading  desk  ready  ?  " 

On  the  eve  of  each  great  feast,  as  he  had  no  chaplain, 
he  used  to  officiate  himself,  reading  the  lauds,  and  chanting 
the  psalms. 

"  No,  not  yet,  dearest,  perhaps  a  little  later  on.  I  feel 
tired,  my  head  aches." 

"  You  should  drink  less  wine,  Alexis." 

"  It  is  not  the  wine,  but  my  thoughts  ;  the  news  was  so 
joyous." 

Afrossinia,  on  her  way  to  the  bedroom,  stopped  at  the 
table  to  select  from  the  basket  which  the  German  had 
brought  lier,  a  ripe  peach  ;  she  enjoyed  eating  a  dainty 
before  going  to  sleep. 

The  Tsarevitch  came  up  and  embraced  her. 

"  Afrossinia,  my  dearest,  aren't  you  glad  ?  You  will 
be  queen — and  he,  the  babe " 

He  was  persuaded  that  Afrossinia  would  bear  him  a 
son.  She  was  the  third  month  with  child.  "  You  are  my 
gold,  and  the  boy  will  be  our  silver,"  he  would  tell  her  in 
moments  of  tenderness. 

"  Yes,  you  will  be    the    Tsaritsa,  your  boy    the   heir. 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  297 

We  will  call  him  Ivan,  the  most  pious  Tsar,  Ivan  Alexse- 
vitch.  Autocrat  of  all  the  Russias." 

She  gently  freed  herself  from  his  embrace,  looked  across 
her  shoulder  to  see  whether  the  lamp  was  burning  all 
right,  took  a  bite  from  her  peach,  and  then  calmly  answered 
him  : — 

"  You  are  talking  idly.  How  can  I,  a  servant,  become  a 
Tsaritsa  ?  " 

"  I'll  marry  you,  then  you  can't  help  being  one  !  My 
father  did  just  the  same.  His  wife,  Catherine,  belongs  to 
no  distinguished  family  ;  she  used  to  wash  linen  with  the 
Finnish  women,  her  companions  ;  a  chemise  was  all  she 
wore  when  taken  a  prisoner,  and  yet  she  reigns.  You,  also, 
Afrossinia  Fedorovna,  will  be  a  Tsaritsa,  and  no  worse  than 
others." 

He  wanted  to  tell  her  all  he  felt,  yet  knew  not  how  to 
express  it.  He  wanted  to  tell  her  the  main  idea  of  his  life — 
that  it  was  just  because  she  was  of  the  people  he  had  loved 
her  ;  though  he  was  the  son  of  lh2  Tsar,  he  felt  he  too 
belonged  to  the  people.  He  did  not  share  the  noble's  pride, 
but  loved  the  simplicity  of  the  common  folk.  It  is  from 
them  that  he  \\-ould  accept  the  crown.  Good  must  be 
repaid  by  good.  The  common  people  will  make  him  Tsar, 
and  he  will  make  her,  Afrossinia,  the  serf -girl,  a  Tsaritsa. 

She  remained  silent,  her  eyes  cast  down,  and  her  face 
revealing  little  beyond  an  unmistakeable  longing  for  sleep. 
But  he  pressed  her  closer  and  closer  to  himself,  conscious 
of  the  freshness  of  her  naked  body  concealed  by  the  thin 
material.  She  resisted,  and  tried  to  free  herself.  Suddenly 
by  accident  he  caught  the  chemise  which  was  kept  together 
by  a  single  button  on  the  shoulder.  It  gave  way,  and  the 
chemise  slipped  off  and  fell  to  her  feet. 

She  stood  before  him  naked,  amidst  the  brilliancy  of  her 
tawny  golden  hair  alone.  The  beauty  spot  over  her  left 
brow  was  strangely  enticing.  Again  there  was  something 
faun-like,  shining,  mysterious  and  wild  in  her  almond- 
shaped  eyes. 

"  Let  me  go  Alexis,  I  am  ashamed,  let  me  go  !  " 

If  she  felt  shame,  she  did  not  feel  it  very  acutely.  She 
turned  aside  her  head  a  little  with  her  usual  indolent, 
slightly  mocking  smile  ;    and  remained,  always  under  his 


298  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

caresses,  cold,  innocent,  almost  virginal,  notwithstanding 
the  scarcely  perceptible  swelling  curve  which  revealed  her 
pregnancy.  Her  body  seemed  to  glide  out  of  his  embracing 
arms,  to  become  ethereal  and  melt  away  like  a  phantom. 

"  Afrossinia  !  "  he  whispered,  trying  to  retain  the  vision, 
and  suddenly  he  fell  on  his  knees  before  her. 

"  For  shame,"  she  repeated,  "  on  the  eve  of  a  holy  day, 
and  when  the  lamp  is  burning,  sin  !   sin  !  " 

Yet  the  next  minute  she  raised  with  listless  indifference 
a  peach  to  her  parted  lips,  red  and  fresh  as  the  fruit  itself. 

"  She  is  right,  it  is  sin,"  the  old  thought  flashed  across 
his  mind.     "With  woman  began  sin,  root  of  all  our  death." 

Involuntarily  he  too  glanced  back  at  the  holy  image ; 
just  such  an  image  as  this  had  fallen  out  of  his  father's 
hands  one  stormy  night  in  the  Summer  Garden  and  broken 
at  the  foot  of  the  Petersburg  Venus,  the  white  she-devil. 

Afrossinia  stood  against  the  door  which  opened  on  the 
blue  sea,  and  her  body,  glowing  and  white  like  the  foam  of 
waves,  seemed  to  have  freshly  left  them  and  arisen  from 
the  surging  deep.  In  one  hand  she  held  the  fruit,  with  the 
other  she  shielded  her  nakedness,  like  the  Foam-born. 
Behind  her  frothed  and  sparkled  the  blue  sea,  an  ambrosial 
cup,  and  the  noise  of  its  ripples  suggested  the  eternal 
laughter  of  the  gods. 

It  was  that  same  girl  Afrossinia,  who,  one  evening  in 
early  spring,  bending  low  over  her  naked  feet,  had  been 
washing  the  floor  in  the  house  of  Viasemski.  It  was  that 
girl  and  the  goddess  Aphrodite  merged  into  one. 

"  Venus,  Venus,  the  White  Witch  !  "  thought  the  Tsare- 
vitch,  almost  ready  to  flee  from  her.  But  from  the  body 
of  this  innocent  sinner,  as  from  an  open  flower,  there 
came  to  him  a  familiar,  intoxicating,  awful  perfume  ;  no 
longer  master  of  himself  he  bent  lower  still  and  kissed  her 
feet,  and,  looking  into  her  ej'es,  whispered  as  in  prayer  : 

"  Tsaritsa,  my  Tsaritsa." 

Meantime  the  dim  flame  of  the  little  lamp  was  flickering 
to  and  fro  before  the  sacred  and  sorrowful  Face. 


CHAPTER   IV 

COUNT  DAUN,  the  Imperial  Viceroy  of  Naples,  invited 
the  Tsarevitch  to  an  evening  interview  at  the  royal 
palace  on  September  26. 

During  the  last  few  days  the  atmosphere  had  indicated 
the  approach  of  the  sirocco,  that  African  wind  which  car- 
ries with  it  clouds  of  hot  sand  from  the  depths  of  the  Sahara. 
The  storm  was  probably  already  raging  in  the  upper  regions 
of  the  air,  while  on  the  earth  there  was  absolute  calm  ; 
the  leaves  of  the  palms  and  branches  of  mimosa  hung  mo- 
tionless. The  sea  alone  was  agitated  ;  huge  foamless  ridges 
swelled  up  and  broke  on  the  shore  with  heavy  rumbling. 
The  distance  was  shrouded  in  dense  gloom,  and  the  sun  in  the 
cloudless  heavens  was  seen  dimly  as  through  a  smoked  opal. 
The  air  was  permeated  with  the  finest  dust  which  pene- 
trated ever\nA^here,  even  into  well-closed  rooms  ;  it  covered 
white  sheets  of  paper  and  the  pages  of  books  with  a  grey 
layer ;  it  made  the  teeth  gritty,  it  inflamed  eyes  and  throats. 
It  was  close,  and  hourly  became  more  stifling.  In  nature 
there  was  the  same  feeling  as  in  the  body  round  a  tumour. 
Men  and  animals  were  restless,  tossed  about  in  distress. 
The  people  were  expectant  of  some  calamity  ;  war,  or  pesti- 
lence, or  perhaps  an  eruption  of  Vesuvius. 

And  really  in  the  night  from  the  23rd  to  the  24th  Sep- 
tember, the  inhabitants  of  Torre  del  Greco,  Resina  and 
Portici  felt  the  first  underground  shocks.  Lava  appeared. 
The  glowing  avalanche  was  already  nearing  the  uppermost 
vineyards,  planted  on  the  slopes  of  the  hill.  To  appease 
God's  wrath  penitential  processions  were  inaugurated,  with 
burning  candles,  subdued  singing  and  loud  sobbing.  But 
God's  wrath  was  not  appeased. 

A  thick  black  smoke  rose  from  Vesuvius  in  the  daytime, 
as  from  some  furnace,  spreading  out  in  the  shape  of  a  long 


300  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

cloud  from  Castellamare  to  Posilippo.  At  night  the  red 
flames  were  visible  like  the  glow  from  some  great  subterra- 
nean fire.  The  peaceful  altar  of  the  gods  was  transformed 
into  the  terrible  torch  of  the  Eumenides. 

At  last  in  Naples  itself  the  first  rumble  of  the  earthquake, 
like  underground  thunder,  was  heard.  The  ancient  Titans 
were  again  awaking.  The  town  was  terror-stricken.  The 
days  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  were  recalled.  At  night 
when  all  was  quiet,  somewhere  in  the  chinks  of  the  window, 
or  under  the  door,  or  in  the  chimney  there  would  rise  a  low- 
pitched  piping  like  the  hum  of  a  mosquito.  It  was  Sirocco 
beginning  his  song.  The  noise  grew  louder  and  stronger, 
and  at  the  moment  when  it  was  expected  to  burst  into 
furious  howling,  suddenly  died  away,  and  again  stillness 
ensued,  only  more  deathlike.  It  seemed  as  if  the  evil 
spirits  below  held  converse  with  one  another  about  the 
terrible  day  of  the  Lord. 

During  these  days  the  Tsarevitch  felt  indisposed  ;  but 
the  doctor  reassured  him  that  this  was  only  the  ordinary 
effect  of  the  sirocco  upon  those  not  used  to  it,  and  pre- 
scribed a  cooling  medicine,  which  seemed  to  ease  him. 

On  the  appointed  day  and  hour  he  drove  to  the  palace 
for  his  interview  with  the  Viceroy.  The  officer  on  duty  met 
him  in  the  antechamber  and  gave  him  a  polite  excuse  from 
Count  Daun,  asking  his  Highness  to  wait  a  few  moments  in 
the  reception  hall,  as  the  Viceroy  had  been  obliged  to  absent 
himself  on  some  urgent  business.  Alexis  entered  the  huge, 
lonely  reception  hall  furnished  with  a  gloomy,  almost 
sinister,  S])anish  luxury  :  blood-red  silk  tapestries,  an 
excess  of  heavy  gilt  decorations  ;  cupboards  carved  in  black 
wood  resembUng  tombs  ;  mirrors,  so  dim  that  they  reflected 
spectres.  On  the  walls  large  dark  canvasses,  religious 
paintings  by  old  masters  :  Roman  soldiers,  looking  very 
much  like  butchers,  were  burning,  kicking,  sawing  and  in 
sundrv  other  ways  torturing  Christian  martyrs  ;  it  re- 
minded one  of  a  slaughter-house  or  a  torture  chamber  of  the 
Holy  Imiuisition.  Across  the  ceiling  amid  the  gilt  scrolls 
and  shells  was  a  representation  of  the  Triumph  of  the 
Olympian  Gods.  This  abortion,  bastard  offspring  of  some 
follower  of  Titian  and  Rubens,  marked  the  end  of  the 
Renaissance,  in  which  refined  effeminacy  had  become    a 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  301 

barbarian  savagery,  brutalizing  art.  Masses  of  nude 
bodies,  nude  flesh,  fat  backs,  puffed-out  pleated  bellies, 
sprawling  feet,  monstrous  breasts  ;  these  swine- fed  gods 
and  goddesses,  and  the  little  amoretti  very  much  like  suck- 
ing pigs,  all  this  beast-like  Olympus  seemed  predestined 
for  the  Christian  shambles  ;  for  the  torture-instruments 
of  the  holy  Inquisition. 

The  Tsarevitch  walked  up  and  down  the  room  for  some 
time  ;  at  last  he  got  tired  and  sat  down.  Dusk  was  creep- 
ing in  through  the  windows  and  grey  shadows,  like  spiders, 
were  spinning  their  w^ebs  in  the  corner.  Only  here  and 
there  a  bright  gilt  lion's  paw,  or  the  pointed  breast  of  a 
griffin,  supporting  the  bloodstone  or  malachite  slabs  of 
tables,  broke  the  gloom  ;  the  candelabra,  shrouded  in 
muslin,  dimly  glittered  with  their  crystal  pendants,  Uke 
gigantic  cocoons  beaded  with  dew.  This  mass  of  nude 
fleshy  bodies,  fat  and  pagan  on  the  ceiling,  suffering  Chris- 
tians round  the  walls,  only  seemed  to  augment  the  stifling 
effects  of  the  sirocco.  His  attention  was  arrested  by  a  pic- 
ture, which,  unUke  the  others,  was  a  bright  spot  among  them  ; 
it  represented  a  girl  nude  to  her  waist,  with  auburn  hair,  an 
almost  childlike  innocent  bosom,  clear  yellow  eyes  and  a 
vacant  smile  on  her  lips.  In  the  raised  corners  of  her 
mouth  the  wild  natural  smile  and  the  almond-shaped  eyes 
there  was  something  resembling  Afrossinia.  All  at  once 
there  came  to  him  an  indistinct  feeling  that  there  was  some 
connection  between  this  smile  and  the  stifling  oppressive- 
ness of  the  sirocco.  It  was  a  poor  picture,  a  copy  of  an  old 
work  belonging  to  the  Lombard  school,  probably  by  a  pupil 
of  Leonardo's  pupil.  This  vacant  yet  still  mysterious  smile 
was  a  last  reflection  from  the  face  of  Naples'  noble  citizen 
Monna  Lisa  Gioconda. 

The  Tsarevitch  was  surprised  at  having  to  wait  so  long 
for  the  Viceroy,  who  was  always  so  exceedingly  polite  ;  and 
where  was  Weingart  ?  Why  this  death-like  stillness  in  the 
castle  ? 

He  wanted  to  get  up  and  call  for  candles  ;  but  some 
strange  torpor  paralyzed  him.  That  grey  cobweb,  which  the 
shadows,  like  spiders,  had  Vv^oven  in  the  corners,  twined  and 
clung  round  him  ;  he  was  too  lazy  to  move  ;  his  eyes  were 
heavy,  he  vainly  tried  to  keep  them  open,  nevertheless  he 


302  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

fell  asleep.  It  was  for  a  few  moments  only,  yet  when  he  woke 
it  seemed  to  him  he  had  slept  a  long  time.  He  had  dreamt 
something  upleasant,  something  he  could  no  longer  recall, 
but  which  had  left  a  feeling  of  untold  weariness  in  his  soul, 
and  again  there  was  somehow  a  link  between  this  dream, 
the  vacant  smile  of  the  red-haired  girl,  and  the  growing 
suffocation  caused  by  the  sirocco.  When  he  opened  his  eyes 
he  saw  just  in  front  of  him  a  pale,  spectre-like  face.  For 
a  long  time  he  could  not  make  it  out  ;  at  last  he  recognized 
his  own  face  reflected  in  the  dim  pierglass  before  the  arm- 
chair in  which  he  had  fallen  asleep.  The  same  mirror 
reflected  a  door  just  behind  his  back.  Was  not  the  dream 
going  on  ?  The  door  will  suddenly  burst  open  and  let  in 
something  terrible,  something  he  cannot  define,  yet  dimly 
remembers. 

The  door  opened  noiselessly  ;  on  its  threshold  appeared 
lighted  tapers  and  figures.  Still  looking  at  the  glass  with- 
out turning  round  he  recognized  one  face,  then  another, 
then  a  third.  He  jumped  up  and  held  his  hands  out  in  the 
desperate  hope  that  all  this  was  only  an  apparition,  but  the 
same  figure  stood  before  him  as  in  the  mirror,  and  a  cry  of 
boundless  terror  escaped  his  breast  : — 

"  It  is  He  !     He  !     He  ! " 

Alexis  would  have  fallen  had  not  the  secretary  Wein- 
gart  supported  him. 

"  Water  !  water  !  the  Tsarevitch  is  ill." 

Weingart  led  him  back  to  the  armchair,  and  Alexis  saw 
bending  over  him  the  kind  old  face  of  Count  Daun,  who 
gently  stroked  his  shoulder  and  held  some  spirit  to  his  nose. 

"  Calm  yourself,  for  God's  sake  calm  yourself !  Nothing 
bad  has  happened.     We  bring  the  best  of  news." 

Alexis  drank  the  water,  his  teeth  knocked  against  the 
glass.  Unable  to  take  his  eyes  off  the  door,  he  was  trem- 
bling all  over  as  in  a  high  fever. 

"  How  many  came  in  ?  he  asked  Count  Daun  in  a  whisper. 

"  Two  your  Highness — only  two." 

"  And  the  third,  I  saw  a  third." 

"  You  have  probably  imagined  it." 

"  No,  I  saw  him,  where  is  he  }  " 

"  Who  ?  " 

"My  father!" 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  303 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  The  sirocco  is  responsible  for  this,"  explained  Wein- 
gart.  "  A  flow  of  blood  to  the  head  ;  it  often  happens  so. 
Ever  since  this  morning  blue  rings  dance  before  my  eyes. 
Be  bled,  and  you  will  soon  be  relieved." 

"  I  saw  him,"  repeated  Alexis."  By  God,  it  was  no 
dream !     I  saw  him,  Count,  as  plainly  as  I  see  you  now." 

"  Dear  me,"  exclaimed  the  old  man  with  sincere  sorrcw, 
"  had  I  but  known  that  your  Highness  did  not  feel   well  I 

would    never  have    allowed Even  now  it  is  quite 

possible  to  defer  the  interview." 

"No,  no,  it's  all  the  same.  I  want  to  know,"  murmured 
Alexis.  "  Let  the  old  man  alone  approach  me  !  Don't  let 
the  other  one  come  near." 

He  gripped  his  hand. 

"  For  God's  sake  don't  let  that  one  come  near  me  ;  look 

at  him He  has  been  sent  by  the  Tsar  to  kill  me  !    I 

know  it  !  " 

His  face  expressed  such  terror,  that  the  Viceroy  said  to 
himself.  "  Who  can  depend  on  these  barbarians  ?  It  might 
really  be  true,"  and  he  remembered  the  Emperor's  words 
in  the  original  instructions : 

"  Special  precautions  must  be  taken  during  the  interview 
so  that  any  assault  may  be  frustrated.  (The  Muscovites 
are  a  desperate  people,  capable  of  anything.)  However,  I 
myself  do  not  anticipate  anything  of  the  sort." 

"  I  pledge  my  life  and  honour  that  no  harm  will  come  to 
you.     Trust  me,  your  Highness." 

The  Viceroy  whispered  to  Weingart  to  have  the  senti- 
nels doubled. 

Meanwhile  Peter  Tolstoi  was  approaching  the  Tsarevitch 
with  inaudible  ghding  steps,  arched  breast,  a  deferential 
air  and  lowest  courtesies.  His  companion,  Roumiantzev, 
Captain  of  the  Guards,  the  Tsar's  orderly,  of  giant  stature 
with  an  open  handsome  face  resembling  a  Roman  soldier 
and  the  Russian  national  hero,  stopped  at  some  distance 
near  the  door,  at  a  sign  from  the  Viceroy. 

"  Gracious  Lord  Tsarevitch,  your  Highness  !  a  letter  from 
your  father,"  said  Tolstoi,  and  bending  lower  still  so  that 
the  left  hand  almost  touched  the  ground,  he  tendered  with 
his  right  the  letter. 


304  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  Tsarevitch  recognised  his  father's  handwriting  in 
the  laconic  "  To  my  Son,"  on  the  outside.  He  broke  the  seal 
with  trembling  hand  and  read  : — 

"  My  Son — 

"  It  is  generally  known  what  disobedience  and  contempt 
for  my  will  you  have  shown,  and  that  neither  words  nor 
punishment  could  persuade  you  to  follow  out  my  instruc- 
tions. Before  I  went  you  succeeded  in  deceiving  me  by 
vows  ;  and  what  came  next  ?  You  left,  and,  like  a  traitor, 
placed  yourself  under  a  stranger's  protection  !  A  thing 
unheard  of,  either  among  our  children  or  among  our  sub- 
jects. Having  thus  caused  grief  and  annoyance  to  your 
father,  and  shame  to  your  country,  I  send  you  now  this  last 
message,  that  3'ou  should  conform  to  my  will,  and  do  as 
M.  Tolstoi  and  Roumiantzev  will  tell  you.  If  you  do  as 
I  wish  you,  I  give  you  hope  and  promise  in  the  sight  of  God 
that  no  punishment  shall  be  inflicted  on  you.  I  will  show 
you  even  greater  love  should  you  obey  and  return  to  me. 
If  on  the  contrary  you  remain  obstinate,  then  I,  your  father, 
by  the  power  given  to  me  by  God,  will  curse  you  for  all 
eternitv.  As  your  sovereign  I  will  declare  you  a  traitor, 
and  I  will  employ  all  means  to  pursue  you.  God  will  help 
me  in  the  work. 

"  Remember  also,  that  so  far,  I  have  not  used  violence  with 
you ;  if  I  had,  why  should  I  have  depended  on  your  good 
will  ?     I  would  have  acted  as  pleased  me. 

"Peter." 

Having  read  the  letter,  Alexis  again  glanced  at  Roumiant- 
zev who  bowed  and  tried  to  come  nearer.  But  Alexis,  pale 
and  trembling,  rose  from  his  chair  and  said  :  "  Peter  Andre- 
itch,  don't  let  him  come  near  me,  else  I  will  at  once  leave 
you.  Don't  you  hear  the  Count  also  forbids  him  to  come 
near." 

Tolstoi  made  a  sign  to  Roumiantzev,  who  stopped  short ; 
his  handsome  but  unintelligent  face  looked  perplexed. 

Weingart  offered  a  chair.  Tolstoi  drew  it  near  to  the 
Tsarevitch  and  sat  down  in  a  respectful  attitude  ;  he  stooped, 
looked  into  his  eyes  with  an  open  confident  gaze  and 
began  to  talk.  He  spoke  as  if  nothing  special  had  happened 
and  they  had  just  met  for  a  friendly  chat. 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  305 

Tolstoi  had  remained  the  same  elegant  chevalier,  his 
excellency  the  privy  councillor.  Black  velvety  eyebrows, 
a  soft  velvety  look  in  his  eyes,  an  amiable  velvety  smile,  an 
insinuating  velvety  voice,  all  smooth  and  velvety,  yet  velvet 
with  a  fang. 

The  Tsarevitch  listened  to  his  conversation  with  pleasure, 
though  he  could  not  help  remembering  his  father's  saying, 
"  Tolstoi  is  a  clever  man  ;  but  in  speaking  with  him  it  is 
well  to  keep  a  stone  ready  in  your  shng."  His  sensible, 
business-hke  words  calm.ed  Alexis,  roused  him  from -those 
terrible  dreams  and  brought  him  back  to  reahty.  Every- 
thing seemed  to  be  smoothed  over  and  softened  down  ;  it 
seemed  possible  to  arrange  matters  that  the  wolves  should 
be  satisfied  and  the  sheep  remain  whole.  He  spoke  like 
some  experienced  old  surgeon  who  tries  to  convince  his 
patient  that  a  difficult  operation  is  insignificant,  almost 
pleasant. 

"Use  kindness  and  threats;  for  the  rest  employ  argu- 
ments appropriate  to  the  circumstances,"  ran  the  Tsar's 
instruction,  and  had  Peter  heard  him  he  would  have  been 
well  pleased. 

Tolstoi  confirmed  in  words  what  was  written  in  the  letter — 
absolute  pardon  and  grace  should  the  Tsarevitch  return. 
After  that,  Tolstoi  quoted  at  length  the  Tsar's  words  from 
his  own  instructions  bearing  on  the  interview  with  the 
Emperor  ;  there  w'as  a  new  accent  of  firmness  sounding  in 
his  usually  pleasant  and  amiable  voice. 

"  Should  the  Emperor  say  that,  our  son,  having  placed 
himself  under  his  protection,  he  cannot  deliver  him  up  against 
his  will,  or  should  he  bring  forward  any  other  such  excuses 
and  fanciful  apprehensions,  put  it  before  him,  that  we  can- 
not but  feel  hurt  that  he  tries  to  arbitrate  between  us  and 
our  son  ;  when  by  natural  law,  and  especially  by  the  law  of 
our  country,  no  one  can  interfere  between  father  and  son, 
not  even  in  private  families  :  the  son  must  obey  his  father. 
And  we,  an  autocratic  monarch,  are  in  no  wise  subject  to 
the  Emperor, and  he  has  no  right  to  interfere,  but  ought  to 
send  our  son  to  us.  We,  as  a  father  and  sovereign,  follow- 
ing the  dictates  of  our  duty,  will  graciously  receive  him  and 
forgive  him  this,  his  misdeed,  and  will  instruct  him  so  that 
he.  forsaking  his  old  sinful  ways,  may  walk  in  the  paths  of 

u 


3o6  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

virtue  and  follow  out  our  intentions,  could  then  regain 
our  fatherly  affection.  His  Imperial  Majesty  will  benefit 
him,  as  well  as  earn  a  recompense  from  God  and  gratitude 
from  us.  Our  son  too  will  in  the  end  be  more  thankful  for 
this  than  for  being  kept,  as  he  now  is,  under  strict  watch,  a 
prisoner  or  malefactor  under  the  name  of  some  treacherous 
Hungarian  Count,  to  the  injury  of  our  honour  and  name. 
Yet  should  the  Emperor  flatly  refuse,  then  declare,  that 
we  take  this  to  be  an  open  breach  and  rupture,  and  we 
shall  carry  our  complaint  before  all  the  world,  and  will  then 
seek  and  strive  to  revenge  such  an  insufferable  insult." 

"  Bah  !  "  interrupted  the  Tsarevitch,  "  my  father  will 
never  wage  war  against  the  Emperor  because  of  me." 

"  I  don't  think  there  will  be  war,"  agreed  Tolstoi.  "  The 
Emperor  will  give  you  up  without  war  ;  he  does  not  benefit 
by  your  stay  in  his  dominions  ;  on  the  contrary,  grave 
difficulties  arise  from  it.  He  has  fulfilled  his  promise  to- 
wards you  ;  he  has  protected  you  until  you  were  pardoned 
by  your  father  ;  and  now  the  pardon  has  come,  the  Emperor 
has  no  further  obligations  ;  he  is  not  obliged  to  keep  you 
against  all  rights  and  begin  a  war  with  the  Tsar,  especially 
as  he  already  has  two  wars  on  hand — with  the  Turks  and  the 
Spaniards  ;  you  probably  know  yourself  that  the  Spanish 
fleet  is  now  stationed  between  Naples  and  Sardinia,  ready 
to  attack  Naples,  for  the  nobility  have  arranged  a  plot,  pre- 
ferring Spanish  to  the  Imperial  rule.  If  you  don't  believe 
me,  ask  the  Viceroy  !  He  has  received  a  letter  in  the  Em- 
peror's own  handwriting  to  use  all  measures  to  persuade  you 
to  follow  your  father's  wishes  ;  or  at  any  rate  to  leave  his 
dominions.  And  should  they  not  give  vou  up  freely,  the 
Tsar  is  willing  to  use  arms.  This  is  why  he  keeps  his  army 
in  Poland.  He  will  quarter  them  for  the  winter  in  Silesia, 
and  from  there  it  is  not  far  to  the  Emperor's  dominions." 

Tolstoi  looked  into  his  e\'es  with  still  greater  kindness, 
and  gently  touched  his  hand : — 

"  My  Lord  Tsarevitch,  listen  to  your  parent's  entreaties ; 
return  to  him  !  '  And  we  will,'  these  are  his  exact  words, 
'receive  him  back  into  our  favour  and  promise  to  keep  him 
in  freedom  and  plenty,  without  anger  or  constraint.' " 

The  Tsarevitch  remained  silent. 

"  Should  he  refuse,"  continued  Tolstoi  with  a  heavy  sigh, 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  307 

"  declare  to  him  in  my  name  that  for  such  disobedience,  we  will 
proclaim  him,  after  having  cursed  him,  a  traitor  to  the  state. 
Let  him  consider  what  his  life  will  be  then.  Let  him  not 
think  he  will  be  out  of  danger,  no,  not  unless  he  is  in  life- 
long imprisonment  and  under  strict  watch.  Thus  he  will 
earn  not  only  suffering  for  his  soul  in  the  future,  but  bodily 
pain  in  this  present  life.  We  shall  not  tire  in  discovering 
all  possible  w"ays  and  means  to  punish  him.  Even  if  it  must 
be,  we  will  with  arms  force  the  Emperor  to  deliver  him  up. 
Let  him  consider  the  consequences." 

Tolstoi  stopped,  waiting  for  an  answer,  but  the  Tsarevitch 
remained  silent.  At  last  he  lifted  his  eyes  and  intently 
gazed  at  Tolstoi. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Peter  Tolstoi  ?  " 

"  Since  there  are  no  ladies  present,  I  may  confess  I  am 
past  seventv,"  replied  the  old  man  with  an  amjable  smile. 

"  If  I  remember  rightly,  seventy  is  the  limit  of  man's  life, 
according  to  the  Scriptures.  How  could  you,  Peter  Andreitch, 
with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  undertake  such  a  mission  as 
this  ?     I  always  thought  you  had  some  affection  for  me." 

"  And  so  I  have,  God  knows  it  ;  I  am  ready  to  serve  you 
to  my  very  last  breath.  I  only  have  one  desire,  to  reconcile 
you  to  your  father.  It  is  a  good  work  ;  it  is  written  '  Bles- 
sed are  the  peacemakers.'  " 

"  Don't  tell  lies,  old  man  !  Do  you  really  think  I  don't 
know  why  you  both  have  been  sent  here  ?  I  am  not  sur- 
prised at  Roumiantzev,  but  you,  Tolstoi,  to  lift  your  arm  on 
the  future  Tsar  and  sovereign  ?  You  are  both  murderers. 
My  father  has  despatched  you  to  kill  me." 

Tolstoi  raised  his  hands  in  terror. 

"  God  is  your  judge,  Tsarevitch." 

There  was  such  sincerity  in  his  voice  and  face,  that,  not- 
withstanding his  close  acquaintance  with  him.,  Alexis  won- 
dered if  he  had  been  mistaken  in  him  and  wronged  an  inno- 
cent old  man.  But  suddenly  he  laughed,  even  his  anger 
passed  away,  there  was  so  much  singleheartedness,  innocent 
bewitchery,  in  this  lie  ;  it  was  like  the  artfulness  of  women, 
and  the  play  of  a  great  actor. 

"  You  are  a  sly  fox,  Tolstoi,  only  no  slyness  will  succeed 
in  luring  the  sheep  into  the  wolves'  jaws." 

"  Is  it  the  father  you  believe  to  be  a  wolf  ?  " 


3o8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  Wolf  or  no  wolf,  if  ever  I  should  fall  into  his  hands  not 
one  of  my  bones  will  remain  whole.  Why  should  we  two 
try  to  mystify  one  another  ?  You  know  the  truth  as  well  as 
I  do." 

"  Alexis  Petrovitch,  it  is  all  very  well  doubting  my  words, 
but  see  here,  in  the  Tsar's  own  handwriting,  '  I  promise 
before  God — 'Don't  you  hear,  he  swears  by  God.  Will  it 
be  possible  for  the  Tsar  to  break  his  oath  in  the  sight  of 
Europe  ?  " 

"  What  does  he  care  for  oaths  ?  "  interrupted  Alexis,"  if 
he  cannot  get  out  of  them  himself,  Theodosius  will  absolve 
him.  The  archdeacons  won't  lag  behind,  and  the  absolu- 
tion will  be  granted  by  the  Council.  It  is  something  to  be  a 
Russian  autocrat.  Two  people  on  earth  consider  themselves 
gods,  the  Tsar  and  the  Pope.  They  do  exactly  what  pleases 
them.  No, Tolstoi,  don't  waste  words!  You  won't  get  me 
alive." 

Tolstoi  took  from  his  pocket  a  golden  snuff-box.  On  its 
lid  was  depicted  a  shepherd  loosening  the  girdle  of  a  sleeping 
shepherdess.  Without  any  haste,  in  his  usual  way  he  took 
a  pinch,  lowered  his  head  on  his  breast,  and  said,  as  if  to 
himself,  deliberately : 

"  There  is  nothing  for  it,  then  ;  do  as  suits  you  best.  You 
will  not  listen  to  me,  may  be  you  will  listen  to  your  father, 
he  will  be  here  ere  long  himself." 

"  Where  !  Here  ?  are  you  again  lying  ?  "  gasped  the  Tsare- 
vitch,  growing  pale  and  looking  round  at  the  door. 

Tolstoi  leisurely,  put  the  pinch  first  in  one  nostril,  then 
in  the  other,  sniffed,  shook  off  the  dust  with  a  handkerchief 
from  his  lace  front,  and  said  : — 

"  I  had  no  orders  to  inform  you  about  it,  still  it  seems  I 
have  let  it  out.  I  received  some  time  ago  a  letter  from  the 
Tsar,  telling  me  of  his  immediate  departure  for  Italy.  Who 
can  prohibit  a  father  interviewing  his  son  ?  Don't  imagine 
this  to  be  impossible,  there  is  not  the  slightest  difficulty, 
everything  depends  on  the  Tsar's  own  wish,  and  for  the  rest, 
you  know  yourself  of  the  Tsar's  desire  to  visit  Italy.  And 
now  this  circumstance  has  quite  decided  him." 

He  hung  his  head  lower  still  and  his  face  suddenly  seemed 
to  contract  and  grow  old  ;  he  seemed  on  the  verge  of  crying, 
a  tear  appeared  ;  and  again  the  Tsarevitch  heard  words  he 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  309 

had  often  heard  :  v\  here  can  you  hide  yourself  from  your 
father,  only  in  the  grave — he  will  find  you  everywhere  else. 
The  Tsar's  arm  reaches  far.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  my  dear 
Alexis  Petrovitch." 

The  Tsarevitch  had  again  risen  and  as  at  the  beginning 
of  the  interview  trembled  all  over. 

"  Wait  Peter  Andreitch,  I  must  say  a  word  or  two  to  the 
Count." 

He  took  the  Viceroy's  hand  and  together  they  left  the 
room.  Having  ascertained  that  the  doors  were  locked,  the 
Tsarevitch  retold  his  conversation  with  Tolstoi,  and  then, 
seizing  the  old  man's  hands  with  his  cold  hands  he  asked  : — 

"  Suppose  my  father  will  demand  me  with  arms,  can  I 
still  depend  on  the  Emperor's  protection  ?  " 

"Don't  be  troubled,  your  Highness;  the  Em.peror  is 
strong  enough  to  defend  those  under  his  protection  at  all 
costs." 

"  I  know.  Count,  but  I  don't  speak  to  you  now  as  the 
Viceroy,  but  as  a  noble  chevalier  and  a  kindhearted  man. 
You  have  always  been  good  to  me,  tell  me  the  whole  truth. 
Don't  hide  anything  from  me.  Count.  Leave  politics  alone, 
tell  me  the  truth,  oh  God  !  you  see  how  I  suffer."  He 
burst  into  tears  and  gazed  at  him  with  the  look  of  a  hunted 
animal.     The  old  man  involuntarily  cast  down  his  eyes. 

Count  Daun,  tall,  haggard  with  a  pale  thin  face,  slightly 
reminding  one  of  Don  Quixote,  was  a  weak  indecisive  man. 
An  assistant  and  politician,  he  was  continually  wavering 
between  the  old  traditions,  chivalrous  but  antipolitical,  and 
the  new  duties,  pohtical  but  antichivalrous.  He  felt  deep 
sympathy  with  the  Tsarevitch,  yet  he  feared  to  entangle 
himself  in  some  responsible  affair — it  was  the  fear  of  a  swim- 
mer, himself  in  difficult  straits,  gripped  by  a  half-drowning 
man. 

Alexis  fell  on  his  knees  before  him  : — 

"  I  implore  the  Emperor  in  the  name  of  God  and  all  the 
saints  not  to  forsake  me !  It  is  awful  to  think  what  will 
happen  once  I  get  into  my  father's  hands.  No  one  else 
knows  what  manner  of  man  he  is.     I  know." 

The  old  man  bent  over  him.     Tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"  Get  up,  get  up,  your  Highness !  I  swear  by  the  Lord  that 
I  tell  you  the  plain  truth,  without  any  poUtics.     So  far  as 


310  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

I  know  the  Emperor,  nothing  will  induce  him  to  deliver  you 
up  to  your  father.  Such  an  action  would  be  degrading  to 
the  honour  of  his  Majesty  and  against  universal  justice,  a 
sign  of  barbarism."  He  embraced  the  Tsarevitch  and 
kissed  him  with  fatherly  tenderness. 

When  they  returned  to  the  Reception  Hall.  Alexis'  face, 
though  still  pale,  was  calm  and  resolute.  He  approached 
Tolstoi,  and  neither  sitting  down  himself  nor  inviting  him 
to  do  so,  gave  him  to  understand  that  the  audience  was  over_. 
saying  :— 

"  It  is  dangerous  to  return  into  my  father's  angered  pre- 
sence. The  reason  why  I  dare  not  return  I  will  explain  in  a 
letter  to  my  protector,  his  Imperial  Majesty.  I  may  also 
write  to  my  father  in  reply  to  his  letter,  which  will  be  my 
definite  answer.  At  ]:> resent  I  can  say  nothing,  for  this  mat- 
ter requires  consideration," 

"  If  your  Highness  has  any  conditions  let  me  know  them," 
Tolstoi  began  in  his  insinuating  voice,  "  I  believe  your 
father  will  consent  to  everything.  He  will  even  permit  you 
to  wed  Afrossinia.  Think  it  well  over  ;  you  might  see  it 
in  a  different  light  to-morrow  morning.  We  shall  have 
enough  time  to  talk  it  over,  we  have  not  met  for  the  last 
time." 

"  There  is  nothing  for  us  to  discuss,  and  nothing  to  meet 
for.     How  long  do  you  intend  staying  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  ordered,"  replied  Tolstoi  in  a  low  voice,  and  the 
Tsarevitch  thought  he  saw  his  father's  look  in  Tolstoi's 
eyes, "  I  am  ordered  not  to  leave  this  place  without  you. 
And  should  you  be  removed  somewhere  else  I  must  follow 
you." 

Then  he  added  in  a  lower  voice  : 

"  Your  father  will  not  rest  until  he  has  got  you,  either 
alive  or  dead." 

The  velvety  paw  had  shown  its  claws,  and  then  promptly 
drawn  them  in  again.  He  again  made  a  deep  bow,  even 
tried  to  kiss  Alexis'  hand,  but  the  latter  pulled  it  away. 

"  Your  lordship's  most  devoted  servant  !  " 

He  retired  with  Roumiantzev  through  the  same  door  by 
which  they  had  come  in." 

The  Tsarevitch  followed  them  with  his  eyes  ;  and  then 
for  a  long  time  stared  at  the  door,  as  if  some  fearful  vision 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  311 

had  again  flashed  upon  him.  At  last  he  sank  into  a  chair, 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  shrank  and  stooped  asunder 
some  terrible  load. 

Count  Daun  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  ;  he  tried  to  say 
something  consoling,  but  feeling  there  was  nothing  to  be 
said,  he  silently  joined  Weingart. 

"  The  Emperor  insists  "  he  whispered,  "  that  the  Tsare- 
vitch  should  rid  himself  of  that  woman  he  has  with  him. 
I  had  not  the  courage  to  tell  him  this  to-day.  Will  you 
tell  him  at  some  better  opportunity  ?  " 


CHAPTER   V 

"  T  AM  confronted  with  great  difficulties  in  the  execution 

J_  of  my  plans,"  wrote  Tolstoi  to  the  Resident  Vessel- 
ovsky  in  Vienna.  ''  Our  child  will  never  dream  of  leaving 
unless  he  despairs  of  protection.  Hence  much  would  be 
gained  if  your  grace  would  have  the  report  widely  circulated 
that  he  will  not  be  protected  by  arms,  for  this  is  what  he 
has  staked  his  hopes  upon.  We  must  be  grateful  to  the 
Viceroy  for  his  zealous  help,  but,  none  the  less,  we  cannot 
break  that  cursed  stubbornness.  I  can't  write  more  just  now 
because  I  am  going  to  our  prey  and  the  post  is  leaving." 

Tolstoi  had  before  now  been  in  great  difficulties,  but  he 
always  succeeded  in  getting  out  of  them  unhurt.  When 
young  he  took  part  in  the  Streltsi  mutiny ;  all  others  per- 
ished, he  alone  escaped. 

At  fifty,  with  a  wife  and  children,  being  at  the  time  a 
governor  of  a  province,  he  offered  together  with  "  the  young 
scions  of  Russia  "  to  go  abroad  to  learn  navigation  ;  and  he 
learnt  it.  During  his  ambassadorship  at  Constantinople 
he  v,'9  J  thrice  imprisoned  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Castle  of  the 
Seven  Towers,  and  thrice  he  came  out  ;  and  later  gained 
the  Tsar's  special  favour.  Once  his  private  secretary 
charged  him  in  writing  with  having  appropriated  money 
belonging  to  the  state ;  but  the  sudden  death  of  the  secretary 
took  place  before  the  despatch  of  the  letter. 

Tolstoi  explained  thus  :  "  Timothy,  the  clerk,  became 
acquainted  with  the  Turks  and  thought  he  would  join  the 
infidels.  By  God's  help  I  learnt  about  it.  I  called  him 
to  me,  talked  seriously  to  him,  and  then  locked  him  up  in 
my  room  until  evening  ;  during  the  night  he  drank  a  glass 
of  wine  and  died  soon  afterwards.  In  this  fashion  God 
saved  him  from  his  crimes." 

312 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  313 

It  was  to  some  purpose  that  he  studied  and  translated 
into  Russian  the  Pohtical  Discourses  of  Niccolo  Machia- 
velli,  the  noble  Florentine  citizen.  Tolstoi  himself  passed 
for  a  Russian  Machiavelli.  "  O  head,  head,  if  I  had  not 
known  you  to  be  so  clever  I  should  have  cut  you  off  long 
ago !  "  said  the  Tsar  in  reference  to  him.  And  that  was  why 
Tolstoi  was  now  afraid  lest  in  this  business  with  the  Tsare- 
vitch  this  clever  head  should  prove  itself  foolish  and  the 
Russian  Machiavelli  a  dupe.  And  at  the  same  time  he  had 
done  all  that  could  have  been  done  ;  he  had  enmeshed 
the  Tsarevitch  in  a  fine  though  strong  net  ;  he  had  made 
all  believe  that  all  secretly  desired  his  extradition,  but 
that,  through  fear  of  breaking  faith,  each  was  thrusting 
the  responsibility  upon  others.  The  Empress  was  reckon- 
ing upon  the  Emperor,  the  Emperor  upon  his  chancellor 
the  chancellor  upon  the  Viceroy,  the  Viceroy  upon  his 
secretary.  To  the  last  named  Tolstoi  had  given  a  present 
of  £^2,  and  promised  to  add  more  should  he  succeed  in  con- 
vincing the  Tsarevitch  that  the  Emperor  would  no  longer 
protect  him.  But  all  efforts  were  wrecked  by  the  "  cursed 
stubbornness."  The  worst  was  that  he  had  himself  asked 
to  be  sent  on  this  mission.  "  Every  one  should  recognise 
his  star,"  he  used  to  say :  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  star 
would  be  the  capture  of  the  Tsarevitch,  which  would  be  the 
crown  of  his  official  service,  he  would  be  decorated  with  St. 
Andrew's  ribbon,  receive  the  title  of  Count,  and  thus  become 
the  ancestor  of  a  new  house — the  Counts  Tolstoi,  a  dream 
which  he  had  cherished  all  his  life.  What  would  the  Tsar 
say,  if  he  returned  alone,  without  him  ?  Just  now,  however, 
he  did  not  think  about  the  loss  of  the  Tsar's  favour,  the 
St.  Andrew's  ribbon,  nor  the  title.  Like  a  true  sportsman, 
forgetting  everything  else,  he  had  one  thought  only,  that 
the  prey  would  escape  him. 

A  few  days  after  his  first  interview  with  Alexis,  Tolstoi 
was  sitting  sipping  his  chocolate  at  breakfast  on  the  balcony 
of  his  luxurious  apartments  at  the  Three  Kings  Hotel,  in 
one  of  the  liveliest  streets  of  Naples,  the  Via  Toledo.  He 
looked  very  old,  almost  decrepit,  in  his  dressing  gown,  with 
no  wig  to  cover  his  smooth  skull,  which  showed  a  scanty 
remnant  of  grey  hair  at  the  back. 

Ovid's  "  Metamorphoses,"  which  he  was  still  translating 


314  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

into  Russian,  lay  on  the  table  in  front  of  the  mirror,  together 
with  his  own  metamorphosis — his  youth — a  small  jar, 
brushes,  and  a  beautiful  wig  with  youthful  coal-black  curls. 
He  was  very  uneasy.  But  as  always  in  moments  of  deep 
musings  about  political  affairs,  he  wore  an  unconcerned, 
almost  heedless  expression.  He  exchanged  glances  with 
his  pretty  neighbour  who  was  also  sitting  on  her  balcony 
across  the  road.  She  was  a  black-ej^ed  Spaniard,  one  of  the 
class  who  according  to  .5isop  "  are  not  very  much  inclined  to 
live  by  manual  labour."  He  smiled  across  at  her  with 
gallantry,  though  his  smile  reminded  one  of  the  grin  of  a 
death's  head  ;  and  hummed  a  love  song  of  his  own,  "  To 
the  maiden,"  an  imitation  of  Anacreon  : — ■ 

Fly  not  thus  my  brow  of  snow. 
Lovely  wanton  !  fly  not  so  ! 
Though  the  wane  of  age  is  mine, 
Though  the  brilliant  flush  is  thine. 
Still  I'm  doom'd  to  sigh  for  thee. 
Blest,  if  thou  couldst  sigh  for  me? 
See,  in  yonder  flowery  braid, 
Cull'd  for  thee,  my  blushing  maid, 
How  the  rose,  of  orient  glow. 
Mingles  with  the  lily's  snow  ; 
Mark,  how  sweet  their  tints  agree. 
Just,  my  girl,  like  thee  and  me  ! 

Captain  Roumiantzev  was  telling  him  about  his  love 
adventures  in  Naples.  According  to  Tolstoi,  Roumiantzev 
was  a  man  with  a  cheerful  disposition,  and  made  life  pleasant 
by  his  company  ;  yet  all  he  had  was  the  courage  of  a  good 
soldier — in  short,  he  was  a  fool.  But  Tolstoi  did  not  despise 
him  for  that  reason  ;  on  the  contrary  he  always  listened  to 
him;  and  would  even  sometimes  act  on  his  advice.  "The 
world  is  kept  going  by  fools,"  remarked  Peter  Tolstoi. 
"  Cato,  the  Roman  senator,  used  to  say  that  fools  are  more 
necessary  to  clever  men,  than  clever  men  to  fools."  Rou- 
miantzev was  abusing  a  certain  damsel,  Camille,  for  having 
already  lightened  him  in  one  week  of  more  than  hundred 
pieces  of  gold  : 

"  These  ladies  are  too  fond  of  money." 

Peter  Tolstoi  remembered  how  he  had  once  had  a  love 
affair  in  Naples,  many  years  ago  ;  he  always  related  the 
story  in  the  same  words  : — 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  315 

"  I  was  inamorato  with  Signora  Francesca,  and  she  was 
my  mistress  during  the  whole  of  that  visit,  I  was  so 
enamoured  that  I  could  not  do  without  her,  not  even  an 
hour,  and  she  cost  me  a  thousand  gold  pieces  in  those  two 
months.  I  felt  keenly  leaving  her ;  even  to  this  day  the 
affair  remains  for  me  the  tenderest  of  recollections." 

He  sighed  languidly  and  smiled  across  to  the  pretty 
neighbour. 

"  And  what  about  our '  prey  ?  '  "  he  suddenly  asked  with 
a  nonchalant  air,  as  though  it  were  a  matter  of  very 
secondary  importance  to  him.  Roumiantzev  related  to 
him  a  conversation  he  had  had  yesterday  with  the  sailor, 
Youroff,"  nicknamed  i^^^sop."  Frightened  by  Tolstoi's  threat 
to  send  him  to  Petersburg  as  a  deserter,  Youroff,  notwith- 
standing his  devotion  to  the  Tsarevitch,  agreed  to  become 
a  spy,  to  report  all  he  saw  or  heard  in  the  latter's  house. 
Much  of  what  Roumiantzev  had  heard  about  the  great  love 
of  Alexis  for  Afrossinia  proved  to  be  of  considerable  interest 
and  importance  for  Tolstoi's  calculations.  The  girl  holds 
him  by  his  sensuous  nature  ;  she  is  his  confidant  night  and 
day  ;  she  has  gained  such  power  over  him  that  he  dare 
gainsay  her  in  nothing.  She  has  absolute  mastery  over 
him,  he  does  exactly  as  she  bids  him,  he  wants  to  marry  her, 
only  he  cannot  find  a  priest  ;  else  they  would  have  been 
wedded  long  since.  He  also  told  about  his  interview  with 
Afrossinia,  an  interview  which  owing  to  ^Fsop  and  Wein- 
gart,  had  been  arranged  without  the  knowedge  of  the 
Tsarevitch,  during  his  absence. 

"  A  distinguished-looking  woman,  taking  her  all  round, 
only  red-haired ;  in  appearance  very  meek  and  harmless  as 
a  dove,  but  in  reality  probably  unmanageable  ;  still  waters 
run  deep." 

"  And  how  did  it  seem  to  you,"  asked  Tolstoi,  on  whom 
a  sudden  thought  had  flashed,  "  is  there  any  chance  ?  Is  she 
the  sort  to  fall  in  love  ? " 

"  With  a  view  to  make  our  '  prey '  jealous  as  the  devil  ?  " 
rejoined  Roumiantzev,  "well,  she'd  probably  be  hke  the 
rest  of  women  ;   only  there  is  no  one  for  her." 

"  Why  not  yourself,  Roumiantzev  ?  Don't  be  afraid,  it 
would  flatter  any  woman  to  associate  with  a  fine  fellow  like 
you,"  cunningly  suggested  Tolstoi. 


3i6  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  captain  laughed,  and  complacently  twisted  his 
moustache,  which  imitated  the  fashion  set  by  the  Tsar. 

"  Camille  is  enough  for  me,  what  should  I  do  with  two 
mistresses  ?  " 

Tolstoi  sang : 

"Double  flames  make  virtue  vain! 
Though  thy  heart  love  ladies  twain 
New  love  need  not  old  love  smother. 
First  serve  one  and  then  the  other. 
Capture  one,   then  two,  and  then 
All  the  rest,   though  there  be  ten  !  " 

"  What  a  wag  your  Excellency  is,"  laughed  Roumiantzev, 
showing  two  rows  of  white,  even  teeth,  "  Grey  hair  in 
the  beard,  but  a  devil  of  a  fellow  inside!  "  Tolstoi  replied 
by  another  ditty  : — 

"The  women  tell  me  every  day 
That  all  my  bloom  has  passed  away. 
"  Behold,"  the  pretty  wantons  cry, 
"  Behold  this  mirror  with  a  sigh  ; 
The  locks  upon  thy  brow  are  few. 
And,  like  the  rest,   they  are  withering  too  !  " 
Whether    decline    has  thinn'd  my  hair, 
I'm  sure  I  neither  know  nor  care; 
But  this  I  know,   and   this  I  feel, 
As  onward  to  the  tomb  I  steal. 
That  still  as  death  approaches  nearer, 
The  joys  of  life  are  sweeter,  dearer  ; 
And  since  I've  but  an  hour  to  live. 
That  little  hour  to  bliss  I  give  !  " 

"  Listen  Roumiantzev,"  he  continued,  growing  serious  ; 
"  instead  of  wasting  your  time  with  Camille,  why  not  make 
love  to  that  distinguished  young  lady  ?  It  might  help  us 
with  the  matter  in  hand.  We  might  so  entangle  our  child 
in  jealousy  that  he,  unable  to  find  a  way  out,  would  fall  into 
our  clutches.  For  us  cavaliers  there  is  no  allurement  like  a 
woman  !  " 

"  Peter  Andreitch,  what  are  you  thinking  about  ?  Good 
gracious,  I  thought  you  were  joking,  and  here  you  are  quite 
serious.  It  is  a  ticklish  job.  Suppose  he  becomes  Tsar  and 
learn  about  this  little  adventure,  my  neck  won't  escape  his 
axe." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  that  Alexis  will  ever  be  Tsar  is  written  on 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  317 

water  ;  that  Peter  will  reward  you  most  handsomely  is 
quite  certain.  Roumiantzev,  my  friend,  render  me  this 
service  and  I  will  never  forget  you." 

"  Really,  your  Excellency,  I  don't  know  how  to  tackle  a 
job  hke  this." 

"  We'll  tackle  it  together.  It  is  not  very  difficult.  I'll 
teach  you  how.     All  5'ou  will  have  to  do  is  to  obey." 

Roumiantzev  vainly  sought  to  get  out  of  it,  yet  at  last 
yielded.     Tolstoi  explained  to  him  the  plan  of  action. 

When  he  had  gone,  Tolstoi  fell  once  more  into  musings 
worthy  of  a  Russian  Machiavelli. 

For  some  time  past  he  had  had  a  vague  idea  that  only 
Afrossinia  could,  if  she  would,  persuade  Alexis  to  return. 
The  night  bird  can  outsing  the  day  bird  ;  she  at  any  rate 
was  their  last  hope.  He  had  written  the  Tsar  :  "  It  is 
impossible  to  exaggerate  the  passion  he  has  for  this  girl,  and 
how  much  he  thinks  about  her."  He  also  remembered 
Weingart's  words  :  "He  dreads  returning  lest  his  father 
should  separate  him  from  that  girl.  I  would  like  to  use  the 
threat,  hat  she  will  immediately  be  taken  from  him  if  he 
refuses  to  return  to  his  father.  Although  I  cannot  put  my 
threat  into  execution  without  a  special  decree,  yet  we  can 
see  what  the  result  would  be." 

Tolstoi  decided  to  go  at  once  to  the  Viceroy,  and  ask  him 
to  command  the  Tsarevitch,  in  accordance  with  the  Em- 
peror's will,  to  send  Afrossinia  away.  "  Besides,  there  is 
Roumiantzev's  love  affair !  "  thought  he,  and  such  hope 
possessed  him  that  his  heart  began  to  beat  faster  and 
faster.  "  Aid  us,  Mother  Venus  !  Where  clever  politicians 
fail,  a  foolish  lover  may  succeed." 

He  had  grown  quite  cheerful,  and  looking  at  his  Spanish 
neighbour  hummed  with  unassumed  playfulness  : — 

See  how  fair  in  posies 
With  white  Uhes  twineth 
Red  of  roses  ! 

And  the  little  coquette,  hiding  her  fan,  and  showing  from 
under  her  black  lace  skirt  a  pretty  foot  in  silver  slippers,  and 
pink  stockings  embroidered  with  golden  arrows,  ogled,  and 
smiled  slyly.  And  it  seemed  as  though  in  this  girl,  Dame 
Fortune  herself,  as   so   often  before,  was  again  smiling, 


3i8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

promising  him  success,  decoration,  and  the  title  of  Count. 

Going  inside  to  complete  his  toilette,  he  threw  a  kiss 
across  the  road  with  the  most  gracious  of  smiles. 

The  bald  head  smiled  at  wanton  Fortune. 

The  Tsarevitch  suspected  i^i^sop  of  being  a  spy  and  in 
secret  communication  with  Tolstoi  and  Roumiantzev.  He 
sent  him  away  and  forbade  him  to  come  near  him  ;  but  one 
day  when  he  returned  home  unexpectedly  he  ran  against 
him  on  the  staircase.  ^Esop  on  seeing  him  grew  pale  and 
quaked  like  a  captured  thief.  The  Tsarevitch  perceived 
that  he  was  stealing  up  to  Afrossinia  with  some  secret 
message,  and  taking  him  by  the  collar,  threw  him  down 
the  stairs.  A  round  tin  box  which  he  had  been  carefully 
concealing  fell  from  /Esop's  pocket.  The  Tsarevitch  picked 
it  up.  It  was  a  box  of  chocolates  ;  in  its  cover  lay  a  note 
which  began  : — 

"  Gracious   Lady  Afrossinia  Fedorevna  ! 

"  Since  my  heart  is  not  a  block  of  wood  but  has  been 
endowed  with  the  tenderest  of  feelings."  And  ended 
with  the  verses. 

I  cannot  quench  this  fire 
Sick  with  a  vain  desire. 
Without  thee,  O  beUeve  me, 
Wasting  am  I  and  dull, 
If  thou  deny  me,  life  is  null, 
Vesuvius  shall  receive  me ! 

Instead  of  a  signature  the  initials,  A.  R.  "  Alexander 
Roumiantzev,"  guessed  the  Tsarevitch. 

He  had  sufficient  courage  and  resolution  to  conceal  his 
discovery  from  Afrossinia. 

The  same  day  Weingart  informed  him  of  the  Emperor's 
decree  that  should  the  Tsarevitch  desire  further  protection 
he  must  without  delay  send  Afrossinia  away.  In  reality 
no  such  decree  had  come.  Weingart  was  only  carrying 
out  his  promise  to  Tolstoi.  "  I  will  try  to  frighten  him  ;  and 
though  I  cannot  put  the  threat  into  execution  without  a 
special  decree,  yet  we  can  see  what  the  result  will  be." 


CHAPTER    VI 

ON  the  night  of  October  i,  the  sirocco  at  last  broke  out. 
The  storm  howled  with  special  fury  round  the  summit 
ot  St.  Elmo.  Inside  the  castle,  even  in  the  closely  shut  up 
rooms,  the  noise  of  the  wind  was  as  intense  as  in  the  cabin  of 
a  ship  in  tempest.  Through  the  voice  of  the  air-storm  which 
sounded  now  like  the  howling  of  a  wolf,  now  like  the  sobs 
of  a  child,  now  like  the  frantic  stampede  of  a  herd  of  buffa- 
loes, now  like  the  gnashing  and  whistling  of  gigantic  iron- 
winged  birds,  the  roll  of  the  sea's  breakers  resembled  the 
distant  rumbling  of  artillery.  It  seemed  that  outside  the 
walls  everything  was  breaking  down,  the  end  of  the  world 
had  come,  and  that  illimitable  chaos  was  raging. 

In  the  apartments  of  the  Tsarevitch  it  was  cold  and  damp ; 
yet  it  was  impossible  to  light  a  fire  in  the  hearth  because  the 
wind  beat  down  the  smoke.  The  wind  seemed  to  penetrate 
the  very  walls,  so  that  draughts  blew  through  the  room,  the 
candles  flickered  and  drops  of  wax  grew  cold  on  them  in 
long,  hanging,  pointed  needles 

The  Tsarevitch  was  hastily  walking  to  and  fro  ;  his 
angular  black  shadow  ran  across  the  white  walls,  now  con- 
tracting, now  enlarging,  now  breaking  against  the  ceiling. 
Afrossinia  sat  with  her  feet  on  an  armchair,  and  while  pull- 
ing a  fur  coat  around  her  kept  silently  following  him  with 
her  eyes.  Her  face  seemed  indifferent  ;  only  the  corners 
of  the  mouth  twitched  almost  imperceptibly,  and  her  fingers 
twisted  and  untwisted  with  monotonous  action  the  golden 
cord  torn  off  from  the  fastening  of  her  fur  coat.  Every- 
thing was  the  same  as  it  was  six  weeks  ago  when  the  joyous 
news  had  reached  him. 

At  last  the  Tsarevitch  stopped  in  front  of  her  and  said  in 
a  hollow  voice  : — 

"  It  can't  be  helped,  Afrossinia.  Get  ready,  to-morrow  we 

319 


320  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

will  start  for  Rome,  to  the  Pope.     The  Cardinal  here  told 
me  the  Pope  will  receive  us  under  his  protection." 

Afrossinia  shrugged  her  shoulders  : 

"  Idle  talk  !  Tsarevitch,  when  the  Emperor  refuses  to 
lend  his  protection  to  a  poor  lost  girl  like  me,  how  can  the 
Pope  do  so  ?  He  could  not  because  of  his  clerical  position. 
Besides,  he  has  no  army  to  protect  you,  should  your  father 
appear  in  force  to  claim  3'OU." 

"  Then  what  can  be  done,  Afrossinia  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
clasping  his  hands  in  despair,  "  a  decree  from  the  Emperor 
has  come,  to  send  you  away  at  once.  It  was  difficult  to 
persuade  them  to  wait  till  the  morning ;  they  can  at  any 
moment  take  you  away  by  force.  We  must  escape,  escape 
at  once." 

"  Escape,  where  ?  they'll  catch  us  anywhere — then  it  will 
all  come  to  the  same  thing.     Return  to  your  father  !  " 

"  You  also,  Afrossinia  ?  I  see  Tolstoi  and  Roumiantzev 
have  bamboozled  you  with  their  fairy  tales ;  you  have  taken 
it  all  in." 

"  Peter  Andrei tch  only  wishes  you  good." 

"  Good  '  What  do  you  know  ?  Better  hold  your 
tongue.  Women  have  long  hair,  but  short  wits.  Do  you 
expect  to  escape  torture  ?  Don't  you  imagine  it.  Even 
your  condition  will  stand  you  in  no  stead.  With  us  it  is  no 
new  thing  for  women  to  be  delivered  in  the  hour  of  torture, 
on  a  strappado." 

"  But  your  father  promised  forgiveness " 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  that  means.  That's  where  he  will 
apply  his  mercy  to  me,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  back  of  his 
head.  "  Should  the  Pope  refuse  we  will  go  to  France, 
England,  the  Turk,  the  Swede,  to  the  devil,  but  not  to 
my  father.  Never  mention  it  to  me  again,  Afrossinia  !  Do 
you  hear  ?     Never  !  " 

"  Well,  the  decision  rests  with  you,  Tsarevitch,  only  I 
won't  go  with  you  to  the  Pope,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Not  go,  what  are  you  thinking  about  ?  " 

"  I  won't,"  she  repeated,  calm  as  ever,  fixedly  looking  at 
him.  "  I  have  already  told  Peter  Andreitch  that  I  won't 
go  anywhere  with  the  Tsarevitch  except  to  his  father.  Let 
him  go  alone  where  he  pleases,  but  I  won't  go  with  him." 

"  Afrossinia,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?    What  is  the 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH  321 

matter  with  you  ?  Be  yourself,"  began  Alexis  ;  he  had 
grown  suddenly  pale,  his  voice  had  changed.  "May  God 
pardon  you  !     How  could  I  live  without  you." 

"  Do  as  you  like,  Alexis,  but  I  won't  go;  so  you'd  better 
not  ask  me."  She  tore  the  cord  off  the  buttonhole  and 
threw  it  on  the  floor. 

"  Are  you  mad,  girl  ?  "  he  cried,  clenching  his  fists  with 
sudden  anger,  "  if  I  take  you,  you  will  have  to  go.  You 
assume  too  much  liberty,  have  you  forgotten  who  you  are  ?  " 

"  I  am  what  I  always  was,  the  faithful  servant  of  his 
Majesty  the  Tsar,  my  sovereign  Peter  Alexevitch.  Where 
the  Tsar  commands  there  will  I  go.  I  will  do  as  he  wishes. 
I  won't  go  with  you  against  your  father's  will." 

"  Ah,  is  this  how  you  talk  now.  You  have  made  friends 
with  Tolstoi  and  Roumiantzev,  my  assassins.  Is  this  all 
your  gratitude  for  my  love,  my  kindness  ?     Viper !  Viper ! " 

"  What  is  the  good  of  reviling  me,  Tsarevitch  ?  I  will  do 
as  I  say." 

He  was  awed;  even  his  anger  went,  he  grew  weak  and 
faint,  sank  into  a  chair  at  her  side,  took  her  hand  and  trying 
to  look  into  her  eyes,  said  : — 

"  Afrossinia  my  love,  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  Good 
heavens !  is  this  a  time  for  us  two  to  quarrel  ?  Why 
should  you  speak  like  this  ?  I  know  you  won't  do  it ;  I 
know  you  won't  forsake  me  in  my  distress ;  or  if  you  have 
no  pity  for  me  at  least  think  of  the  little  one." 

She  neither  answered,  nor  looked,  nor  even  moved,  but 
remained  passive,  like  a  dead  thing. 

"Or  don't  you  love  me ?  "  he  continued, with  mad, entreat- 
ing caress,  the  pathetic  cunning  of  a  lover.  "  Well,  if  it  is 
so,  then  leave  me.  God  be  with  you  !  I  won't  keep  you 
back,  only  say  you  don't  love  me." 

She  suddenly  started  up  and  looked  at  him  with  a  jeering 
smile  which  almost  made  his  heart  stand  still. 

"  And  you  thought  I  loved  you  ?  When  you  made  game 
of  me,  a  foolish  girl,  used  her  with  violence,  threatened  her 
with  a  knife,  then  was  the  time  to  ask  whether  I  loved  you 
or  not !  " 

"  Afrossinia,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  Don't  you 
trust  me  ?  I  will  marry  you  and  cover  up  the  sin  by  wed- 
lock.    I  look  upon  you  now  already  as  my  wife." 

X 


322  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  I  thank  your  lordship  for  his  gracious  favour  !  a  favour 
indeed  !  The  Tsarevitch  condescends  to  marry  a  serf-girl ! 
And  yet  look  at  her,  the  fool  is  not  glad  of  the  honour  !  I 
have  endured  it  all  these  years ;  I  can  no  longer.  Marry 
you  !  I  would  as  soon  be  hanged  or  drowned.  I  would  you 
had  straight  away  killed  me  that  time.  '  You  shall  be 
Tsaritsa,' — is  that  your  allurement  ?  Maybe  my  maiden 
honour  and  freedom  are  more  to  me  than  your  kingdom  ! 
At  court  you  live  like  wolves,  each  ready  to  devour  the 
other.  Your  father  is  the  old  wolf,  you  are  the  young  one  ; 
the  old  one  will  swallow  the  young  one  in  the  end.  How 
can  you  stand  against  him  ?  The  Tsar  did  wisely  when  he 
took  the  inheritance  from  you.  How  can  you  govern  ? 
Go  and  be  a  monk,  and  pray  for  your  sins,  you  hypocrite  ! 
You  killed  your  wife,  neglected  your  children,  so  entangled 
yourself  with  a  woman  that  you  can't  leave  her.  You  have 
become  feeble,  hopelessly  feeble,  wearied  out,  degenerate. 
Look  at  your  self  now,  when  a  woman  insults  you,  you  remain 
silent,  afraid  to  say  a  word-  Eh,  my  fine  fellow  !  I  cudgel 
you  like  a  dog,  and  then  just  sign  to  you,  whistle  to  you, 
and  you  will  be  again  after  me,  tongue  hanging  out,  like  a 
dog  after  a  bitch  ;  and  yet  he  asks  me  for  love  !  Is  it 
possible  to  love  a  cur  like  you  ?  " 

He  started,  unable  to  recognise  her.  Her  pale  face,  lit 
up  with  an  almost  insufferable  brightness  in  an  aureole  of 
fiery-red  hair,  was  terrible,  yet  more  beautiful  than  ever. 
The  witch  !  he  thought.  All  at  once  she  seemed  the  cause 
of  all  the  storm  outside  her,  The  wild  shrieking  of  the 
storm  was  but  an  echo  to  her  words. 

"  Wait  a  little,  you  will  see  how  I  love  you  !  I  will  ;"epay 
you  !  I  would  rather  die  myself  than  shield  you.  I  will 
tell  your  father  how  you  asked  the  Emperor  for  an  army  to 
make  war  on  him  ;  how  you  rejoiced  at  the  mutiny  in  the 
army,  and  planned  to  side  with  the  rebels,  how  you  even 
wished  your  father's  death,  you  villain  !  I  will  report 
everything,  you  won't  be  able  to  get  out  of  it  !  The  Tsar 
will  torture  you,  flog  you  to  death,  and  I  shall  be  looking 
on  and  asking :  '  Well,  dear  Alexis !  will  you  remember 
Afrossinia's  love  ? '  And  as  for  your  brat,  the  moment  he 
is  born  I  will  with  my  own  hands " 

He  closed  his  eyes,  stopped  his  ears,  he  wanted  neither 


THE    FUGITIVE     TSAREVITCH  323 

to  see  nor  to  hear.  It  seemed  to  him  that  all  was  falling, 
was  breaking  down,  and  that  he  himself  was  sinking  with 
it.  In  a  flash  he  realised,  as  he  had  never  done  before,  that 
there  remained  no  hope  for  him,  and  that,  struggle  as  he 
might,  do  what  he  would,  he  was  irrevocably  doomed. 

When  the  Tsarevitch  opened  his  eyes  Afrossinia  had  left 
the  room,  but  a  streak  of  light  came  through  the  bedroom, 
door.     He  guessed  she  was  there,  and  he  went  in  to  see. 

She  was  hurriedly  packing,  tying  things  in  a  shawl  as  though 
preparing  to  leave  him  at  once.  The  bundle  was  quite  small 
— a  few  underclothes,  two  or  three  simple  dresses  which  she 
had  made  herself,  and  the  only  too  famihar  box  with  a  broken 
lock,  and  on  the  lid  a  bird — now  nearly  peeled  off — picking 
a  bunch  of  grapes ;  it  was  the  same  box  in  which  she  used  to 
lay  her  marriage  outfit  while  a  serf-girl  at  Viasemski's  house. 
The  expensive  dresses  and  other  things  which  he  had  given 
her  she  carefully  put  to  one  side,  probably  not  wanting  to 
take  his  presents.  This  hurt  him  more  than  all  her  cruel 
words.  When  she  had  finished  packing  she  sat  down  at  her 
little  table,  mended  a  quill  and  began  to  write,  slowly,  with 
difficulty  printing  each  letter.  He  approached  on  tip-toe, 
stooped,  and  looking  over  her  shoulder,  read  the  first  lines  : 

"  Alexander  Ivanovitch  [that  was  Roumiantzev].  Since 
the  Tsarevitch  wants  to  go  to  the  Pope,  and  not  only  does 
not  heed  but  is  even  exceedingly  angry  with  me  for  trying 
to  dissuade  him  from  going,  please  send  for  me  as  soon  as 
you  can,  or  rather  come  yourself,  for  fear  he  should  carry 
me  away  by  force,  because  he  will  go  nowhere  without  me." 

A  board  creaked,  Afrossinia  turned  round,  shrieked, 
jumped  up.  They  stood  facing  one  another,  speechless, 
motionless,  and  staring  at  one  another  with  the  same  look  as 
at  the  time  he  threatened  her  with  the  knife. 

"  So  it  is  to  him,  then  ?  "  he  gasped  in  a  low  hoarse  voice. 

A  scarcely  perceptible  smile  of  irony  flitted  across  her 
slightly  pallid  lips. 

"  I  will  do  just  as  I  like.  1  am  not  going  to  ask  you  where 
I  am  to  go." 

His  face  became  contorted,  with  one  hand  he  gripped  her 
throat,  with  the  other  her  hair,  then  throwing  her  down  he 
began  to  beat,  drag  her  along  and  kick  her. 

"  You  vile  creature  !  " 


324  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  thin  short  dagger  she  used  to  wear  when  disguised 
as  a  page,  with  which  she  had  just  cut  a  sheet  for  her  letter, 
lay  shining  on  the  table.  The  Tsarevitch  caught  hold  of 
it  and  raised  his  arm.  He  felt  a  mad  joy,  as  on  the  day 
when  he  had  done  her  violence.  He  realized  that  she  had 
always  deceived  him,  that  she  had  never  belonged  to  him, 
not  even  in  their  most  passionate  moments,  and  that  only 
now,  only  in  killing  her,  would  he  entirely  possess  her,  and 
satisfy  his  implacable  desire.  She  neither  shrieked,  nor 
called  for  help,  but  struggled  silently,  adroitly,  as  supple 
and  nimble  as  a  cat.  During  the  struggle  he  knocked  the 
table  on  which  the  candle  was  standing  :  it  upset  and  the 
candle  falling  to  the  ground  went  out.  Darkness  ensued. 
Fiery  circles  danced  before  his  eyes.  The  voices  of  the 
storm  began  howling,  somewhere  quite  close  to  him,  almost 
in  his  ear,  and  then  burst  into  infernal  laughter.  He 
started,  as  if  recovering  from  a  trance,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  he  felt  her  hanging  on  his  arm,  motionless,  apparently 
dead.  He  loosened  the  hand  with  which  he  had  grasped 
her  hair,  her  body  fell  to  the  ground  with  a  short,  lifeless, 
dull  thud. 

Such  fear  seized  him  that  his  hair  stood  on  end  He 
flung  the  short  dagger  far  from  him,  rushed  into  the  next 
room,  seized  the  chandelier  with  the  half-burnt  candles, 
hurried  back  to  the  bedroom,  and  then  saw  her  lying  on 
the  floor  prostrate,  pale,  with  blood  on  her  forehead,  her 
eyes  closed.  He  was  again  going  to  rush  out  and  call  for 
help,  when  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  breathing.  He  fell 
on  his  knees  and  bent  over  her,  put  his  arms  round  her  and 
carefully  lifted  her  on  the  bed.  Then  he  lost  all  control 
over  himself,  and  was  no  longer  conscious  of  what  he  was 
doing.  He  now  gave  her  some  spirits  to  smell,  now  he 
tried  to  find  a  feather,  remembering  that  burnt  feathers 
restore  people  to  consciousness,  now  bathed  her  head  care- 
fully with  water,  sobbing  and  kissing  her  hards  and  feet 
and  dress  ;  he  called  to  her  and  knocked  his  head  against 
the  bed  corner,   and  tore  his  hair. 

"  I  have  killed  her — killed  her, — killed  her  !  accursed 
that  I  am." 

Now  he  again  prayed. 

"  Lord  Jesus,  Blessed  Virgin— take  my  life  for  her  life  1  " 


THE    FUGITIVE    TSAREVITCH         325 

And  his  heart  began  to  beat  in  such  an  agony  of  dread 
that  he  imagined  he  was  dying. 

Suddenly  he  noticed  that  she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked 
at  him  with  a  curious  smile. 

"  Afrossinia  !  Afrossinia  !  How  are  you  ?  Shall  I  send 
for  a  doctor  ?  " 

She  continued  to  look  at  him  with  the  same  silent,  mys- 
terious smile. 

She  made  an  effort  to  raise  herself,  he  helped  her  arid 
felt  that  she  had  put  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  was 
pressing  her  cheek  close  to  his  with  a  childlike  fondness 
quite  new  to  him. 

"  You  got  frightened,  thought  you  had  finished  me,  eh  ? 
Nonsense  !  it  is  not  quite  so  easy  to  kill  a  woman.  We 
are  like  cats,  with  nine  lives.     A  lover's  blow  does  no  harm." 

"  Forgive  me,  forgive  me,  Afrossinia  !  " 

She  looked  into  his  eyes,  smiled,  and  fondled  his  hair 
with  the  tenderness  of  a  mother. 

"Ah,  my  boy,  my  foolish  little  boy!  Now  I  come  to 
look  at  you,  you  are  quite  a  little  boy.  You  know  and 
understand  none  of  us  women.  Ah,  you  foolish  boy,  you 
reallj'  thought  that  I  did  not  love  3'ou.  Come,  let  me 
whisper  a  word  into  \'our  ear." 

She  brought  her  lips  close  to  his  ear  and  whispered  pas- 
sionately : 

"  I  love  you.  love  you  as  my  own  soul,  my  life,  my  joy, 
how  can  I  live  on  earth  apart  from  j^ou  ?  Rather  would 
I  see  my  soul  parted  from  my  body.  Do  you  believe  me 
now  ?  " 

"  I  believe  you,  I  beheve  you  !  "  he  cried,  and  laughed 
for  joy. 

She  nestled  closer  to  him. 

"  j\Iy  light,  Alexis,  why  do  I  love  you  so  much  ?  Where 
your  thoughts  are  there  are  mine  also,  j'our  word  is  my 
word,  your  will  is  mine.  You  are  my  master.  This  is  my 
sorrow,  that  we  women  are  all  foolish  and  wicked,  and  that 
I  exceed  them  all.  God  gave  me  a  hungry  grasping  heart. 
I  see  you  love  me,  but  that  does  not  satisfy  me ;  what  more 
I  want  I  cannot  tell.  Why  is  my  boy,  I  think,  always  so 
gentle  and  quiet,  never  contradicting,  never  saying  a  cross 
word,  never  admonishing  me,  stupid  me  ?     I  never  feel 


326  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

his  hand  upon  me,  nor  his  anger.  It  is  not  an  empty 
saying  that  '  they  strike  most  who  love  most.'  Or  is  it 
because  he  does  not  love  me?  Let  me  make  him  angry; 
let  me  test  him  and  see  what  he  will  do  then  ?  And  this 
is  what  you  are,  you  almost  killed  me.  Just  like  your 
father.  I  nearly  died  of  fear.  Well,  this  will  be  a  lesson 
for  the  future,  I  will  remember  it  and  love  you,  this  is  how 
I'll  love  you,  deep,  deep " 

It  was  to  him  as  if  he  saw  for  the  first  time  those  eyes 
kindled  with  a  terrible  dim  fire,  those  parted,  hungry  lips, 
and  for  the  first  time  felt  this  elusive,  snake-like  body. 
"  Then  this  is  her  true  self,"  he  thought,  in  blissful  amaze- 
ment. 

"  And  you  thought  I  could  not  caress  ?  "  and  she  laughed 
with  a  quiet  laugh  which  seemed  to  set  all  his  blood  on  fire. 
"  Wait,  and  you'll  see  how  I  can  love  !  only  satisfy  my 
foolish  heart,  do  what  I  ask  you,  then  I  shall  know  that  you 
love  me  as  I  love  you — unto  death.  My  hfe,  my  dearest 
darUng,  will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  anything  you  ask.  God  knows  there  is  nothing 
in  the  world  I  would  not  do.  I'll  even  meet  certain  death 
if  you  wish  it." 

She  did  not  whisper,  but  only  breathed : — 

"  Return  to  your  father." 

And  again  his  heart  sank  in  terror.  The  iron  hand  of 
his  father  seemed  to  stretch  out  and  grip  him  from  under 
this  loving  hand.  "  She  lies,"  the  thought  flashed  across 
his  mind  with  the  swiftness  of  lightning. 

"  Well  !  let  her  lie,  so  long  as  she  caresses  me  thus,"  he 
concluded  recklessly. 

"  I  am  sick,  sick  unto  death  of  Uving  with  you  in  lawless- 
ness. I  don't  want  to  be  a  lost  woman.  I  want  to  be  your 
wedded  wife  before  God  and  man.  You  may  tell  me  t  am 
as  good  as  your  wife  now.  Idle  talk  !  What  sort  of  a 
wife  am  I  ?  Our  boy,  too,  will  be  born  a  bastard.  But 
as  soon  as  you  return  to  your  father  we  can  marry.  Tolstoi 
himself  says,  '  Let  the  Tsarevitch  propose,  as  the  condition 
of  his  return,  that  he  may  be  allowed  to  marry.'  And  the 
Tsar,  he  says,  will  be  only  too  glad  ;  all  that  will  be  expected 
from  the  Tsarevitch  is  the  abdication  of  the  throne  and  his 
retirement  to  the  country.     To  marry  a  serf-girl  means  the 


THE    FUGITIVE   TSAREVITCH  327 

same  as  going  to  a  monastery  ;  he  will  forfeit  the  crown. 
And  this  is  all  I  want,  my  Alexis.  I  am  afraid  of  the 
Tsardom,  more  than  of  anything  else.  When  a  Tsar  you 
won't  have  any  time  left  for  me.  Your  head  will  be  turned. 
Tsars  have  no  time  for  love.  I  don't  want  to  be  a  neglected 
Tsaritsa,  I  want  to  be  your  sweetheart  always.  Love  is 
my  kingdom.  We  will  settle  down  in  the  country,  in  some 
village,  either  in  Poretzkoye  or  Roshdestveno,  and  there 
we  will  live  in  peace  and  quiet,  you  and  I  and  the  boy, 
untroubled  by  anything.  My  heart,  my  life,  my  joy  ! 
Don't  you  want  it  ?  Won't  you  do  it  ?  Is  it  the  throne 
you  regret  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  ask,  Afrossinia,  little  mother  ?  You 
know  well  I'll  do  it." 

"  You'll  return  to  your  father  ?  " 

"  I  will." 

It  seemed  to  them  that  the  opposite  of  what  had  just 
happened,  was  going  on  now.  No  longer  he,  but  she 
had  the  violent  mastery.  Her  kisses  were  wounds  ;  her 
caresses  a  murder. 

She  grew  still,  and,  gently  pushing  him  away,  again 
breathed,  in  a  scarcely  audible  whisper : — 

"  Swear  it  !  " 

He  wavered,  like  a  man  on  the  brink  of  committing 
suicide,  when  the  knife  is  already  raised.  Nevertheless 
he  said — 

"  I  swear,  before  God." 

She  blew  out  the  candle  and  embraced  him  with  endless 
love,  deep,  terrible  as  death.  It  seemed  to  him  he  was 
flying  with  her,  a  witch,  a  white  sorceress,  towards  some 
bottomless  gloom,  borne  on  the  wings  of  the  storm. 

He  knew  it  was  his  doom,  the  end  of  everything,  and  he 
rejoiced  in  it. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  nextday,  October  3rd,  Tolstoi  was  writing  a  letter 
to  the  Tsar  in  Petersburg; 

"  Most  Gracious  Sovereign, — 

"We  have  to  humbly  report,  that  your  Majesty's  son, 
his  Highness  the  Tsarevitch  Alexis,  has  declared  unto  us 
this  day  his  intention.  Putting  aside  all  former  resistance, 
he  submits  to  your  Majesty's  decree,  and  is  coming  to  Peters- 
burg with  us  About  this  he  has  himself  written  to  your 
Majesty,  and  has  given  us  his  letter  unsealed,  so  that  we 
may  include  it  in  our  packet.  Herewith  we  send  a  copy  of 
the  aforesaid  letter,  the  original  we  are  keeping  back,  deem- 
ing it  wiser  under  present  circumstances.  He  lays  down 
in  it  two  conditions — first,  to  be  allowed  to  live  on  his  estate 
near  Petersburg,  and  the  second — permission  to  marry  the 
girl  who  now  lives  with  him.  When  we  tried  at  first  to 
persuade  him  to  return  to  your  Majesty,  he  would  not  even 
so  much  as  consider  it  without  these  conditions  being 
granted.  He  is  very  anxious,  your  Majesty,  that  we 
should  obtain  permission  for  him  to  wed  the  woman  before 
reaching  Petersburg.  And  though  these  conditions  are 
rather  tiresome,  yet  I  take  the  liberty  of  granting  them  of 
my  own  accord,  without  waiting  for  your  decree.  I  here- 
with lay  before  your  Majesty  my  own  humble  opinion  on 
this  subject.  If  there  is  no  special  reason  against  it  let  him 
have  his  way,  for  then  only,  will  he  show  to  the  world  what 
sort  of  a  man  he  is ;  that  no  real  grievance  had  prompted  his 
flight,  only  the  woman.  Secondly,  it  will  so  annoy  the  Em- 
peror that  he  will  never  believe  in  him  again.  Thirdly,  the 
danger  of  a  suitable  marriage  will  be  warded  off ;  a  risk 
which  threatens  us  even  here.  And  should  you  sanction 
all  this,  ])lease  deign  to  mention  this  to  me  in  your  letter, 

328 


THE   FUGITIVE   TSAREVITCH  329 

along  with  other  commands,  so  that  I  could  show  it  to  him 
without  leaving  it  with  him.  And  should  your  Majesty 
consider  that  this  marriage  is  not  permissible,  why  not 
just  give  him  hope  by  telling  him  that  it  cannot  take  place 
in  any  other  country  save  Russia,  so  that,  filled  with  hope, 
he  may  not  think  of  delay,  but  come  to  you  without  the  least 
suspicion.  And  also,  my  lord,  deign  for  a  httle  while,  at 
least,  to  keep  your  son's  return  a  secret ;  lest  once  it  gets 
abroad,  those  who  are  opposed  to  his  return  should  tempt 
him  to  change  his  mind,  which  may  God  forbid.  Also, 
condescend  to  send  me  a  decree  to  all  the  commanders  of 
regiments  stationed  along  our  route,  in  case  we  may  need 
a  convoy.  We  hope  to  leave  Naples  on  the  6th  or  7th  of 
October.  The  Tsarevitch  desires  first  to  visit  Bari  to  see 
the  relics  of  St.  Nicholas,  whither  we  will  accompany  him. 
At  the  same  time,  the  mountain  roads  are  very  bad,  and 
though  we  should  travel  without  delay,  yet  it  will  be  impos- 
sible to  hurry.  Besides,  the  aforesaid  woman  is  four  or 
five  months  advanced  in  pregnancy,  and  this  too  might 
lengthen  the  time  of  our  journey,  because  he  will  not  travel 
fast  out  of  consideration  for  her  ;  it  is  impossible  to  describe 
how  he  loves  her  and  with  what  solicitude  he  watches  over 
her. 

"  We  remain  your  Majesty's  most  humble  and  respect- 
ful servant, 

"  Peter  Tolstoi. 

"  P.S. — When  God  shall  grant  me  to  be  back  in  Peters- 
burg, then,  your  Majesty,  I  shall  safely  praise  Italy  without 
running  the  risk  of  the  penalty  of  the  Large  Goblet,  since 
a  real  campaign  was  not  even  needed  ;  but  your  intention 
of  coming  to  Italy  alone  proved  sufficient  to  yield  good 
results  to  your  Majesty  and  the  entire  Russian  Empire." 

He  also  wrote  to  the  Resident  in  Vienna,  Vesselovsky  : 

"  Keep  everything  absolutely  secret  for  fear  some  devil 
should  write  to  the  Tsarevitch  and  frighten  him  off  this 
journey.  God  alone  knows  the  difficulties  which  have 
arisen  over  this  affair.  I  cannot  tell  you  all  the  miracles  we 
have  accomplished." 

It  was  night  and  Tolstoi  was  alone  in  his  apartments  at 
the  Three  Kings  Hotel,  sitting  with  a  candle  at  his  writing- 
table. 


330  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Having  finished  his  letter  to  the  Tsar,  and  made  a  copy 
of  the  Tsarevitch's  letter,  he  took  the  sealing  wax  to  seal 
them  up  in  the  same  envelope.  But  he  put  it  down  again, 
then  read  once  more  the  original  of  the  Tsarevitch's  letter, 
sighed  deeply,  joyfully,  opened  his  golden  snuff-box,  took 
a  pinch,  and  rubbing  the  snuff  between  his  finger  and 
thumb,  with  a  quiet  smile  fell  into  a  reverie. 

He  could  scarcely  trust  his  luck ;  only  this  morning  he 
was  in  the  depths  of  despair,  so  that  on  receiving  a  note 
from  the  Tsarevitch  :  "  I  wish  urgently  to  speak  with  you 
— something  to  your  interest,"  he  did  not  want  to  go, 
thinking  it  only  meant  more  talking  to  while  away  the 
time. 

And  suddenly,  the  "  cursed  stubbornness  "  had  dis- 
appeared ;  he  had  agreed  to  everything ;  in  very  truth  a 
miracle,  due  to  none  save  God  and  St.  Nicholas.  It  was 
not  in  vain  that  Tolstoi  had  always  specially  honoured 
St.  Nicholas,  and  trusted  to  the  holyprotection  of  the  wonder 
worker.  He  was  glad  to  accompany  the  Tsarevitch  to 
Bari.  The  holy  man  well  deserved  a  candle  !  It  is  true 
that  besides  St.  Nicholas,  Venus  also  had  her  part,  Venus 
whom  he  so  fervently  worshipped  had  not  abandoned  him — 
rather  helped  him.  To-day,  when  saying  goodbye  he  had 
kissed  the  woman's  hand — only  the  hand — why,  he  had 
felt  equal  to  falling  down  before  her  on  his  knees  and  wor- 
shipping her,  like  Venus  herself.  A  clever  lass  !  How  she 
tricked  the  Tsarevitch  ?  For  after  all,  he  was  not  so  great 
a  fool  as  not  to  realize  what  was  before  him.  That's  just  the 
trouble,  he  is  too  clever.  "  It  is  a  general  rule,"  Tolstoi  was 
in  the  habit  of  saying,  "that  clever  people  are  easily  cheated, 
because  while  they  have  a  lot  of  extraordinary  knowledge, 
they  have  but  slight  acquaintance  with  every-day  concerns. 
To  fathom  the  mind  and  nature  of  man  requires  great 
knowledge  ;  it  is  more  difficult  to  know  people  than  to 
remember  a  number  of  books." 

With  what  reckless  ease,  with  what  a  cheerful  face,  did  the 
Tsarevitch  inform  him  to-day  that  he  was  returning  to  his 
father.  He  seemed  either  drunk  or  dreaming;  i he  whole 
time  he  was  laughing  with  a  strange  pathetic  laugh. 

"  Poor  man  !  poor  man  !  "  Tolstoi  shook  his  head  in  dis- 
tress and  having  snuffed,  he  wiped  a  tear  which  had  come 


THE    FUGITIVE   TSAREVITCH  331 

into  his  eye  ;  whether  owing  to  the  snuff,  or  his  pity  for  the 
Tsarevitch  is  doubtful.  "  Like  a  sheep  which  is  dumb, 
he  is  brought  to  the  slaughter." 

Tolstoi  had  a  kind,  almost  sentimental  heart. 

"  Yes,  it  seems  a  great  pity,  yet  it  could  not  be  helped,"  he 
hastened  to  console  himself.  "  The  eel  hves  in  the  sea  to 
prevent  the  carp  from  sleeping.  Friendship  is  friendship, 
duty  is  duty." 

He,  Tolstoi, had,  after  all, succeeded  in  rendering  a  service 
to  the  Tsar,  to  the  Fatherland  ;  he  had  kept  up  his  dignity, 
had  proved  himself  a  worthy  disciple  of  Niccolo  Machia- 
velli,  and  had  successfully  crowned  his  career.  Now  his 
lucky  star  will  descend  on  his  bosom  in  the  shape  of  St. 
Andrew's  decoration,  the  Tolstoi's  will  be  Counts,  and  should 
they  attain  celebrity  in  future  generations,  reach  higher 
positions,  they  will  remember  him.  Let  now  Thy  servant 
depart  in  peace,  O  Lord  ! 

These  thoughts  had  filled  his  heart  with  an  almost  frolic- 
some mirth.  He  suddenly  felt  young  again,  forty  years 
seemed  to  have  dropped  off  his  shoulders,  he  felt  a  desire  to 
whirl  round  and  round,  as  if,  like  the  god  Mercury,  he  had 
wings  on  his  feet  and  hands. 

He  was  holding  the  sealing  wax  over  the  candle,  the  flame 
trembled,  and  the  huge  shadow  of  a  smooth  skull — he  had 
taken  his  wig  off — was  bobbing  on  the  wall  as  in  a  dance, 
and  making  awful  faces,  laughing  hke  a  dead  skull.  The 
sealing  wax  melted,  thick  drops,  red  as  blood,  began  to  fall. 
He  was  gently  humming  his  favourite  song  : 

'Tis  time  to  cast  thy  bow  away, 
Cupid,  we  all  are  in  your  sway  ! 
Thy  golden  love-awaking  dart 
Has  reached  and  wounded  every  heart. 

In  the  letter  Tolstoi  was  sending  to  the  Tsar  the  Tsarevitch 

had  written : — 

"  Most  gracious  Sovereign  and  father  ! 

"  Your  gracious  letter  was  delivered  to  me  by  Messieurs 
Tolstoi  and  Roumiantzev.  From  it  as  well  as  from  their 
words,  I,  who,  by  my  presumptuous  flight,  made  myself 
unworthy  of  all  grace,  have  been  informed  of  your  Majesty's 


332  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

gracious  pardon,  assured  to  me  in  case  of  my  return,  for 
which  I  tender  you  my  heartfelt  thanks,  and  humbly  pray 
to  be  forgiven  my  manifold  transgressions,  which  I  fully 
realize  deserve  severe  punishment.  And  trusting  to  your 
gracious  promise,  I  give  myself  into  your  hands,  and  will 
leave  Naples  together  with  your  envoys  in  a  few  days,  for 
Petersburg. 

"  Your  lowliest  servant,  no  more  worthy  to  be  called  your 

sop. 

"  Alexis." 


Book  VII 

PETER  THE    GREAT 

CHAPTER   I 

PETER  had  got  up  early.  "  The  very  devils  haven't 
had  time  to  snore,"  grumbled  the  sleepy  orderly 
who  had  to  light  the  stoves.  A  gloomy  November  morning 
was  looking  in  through  the  window.  By  the  light  of  a 
tallow  candle  end,  in  a  night  cap,  dressing  gown,  and 
craftsman's  leather  apron,  the  Tsar  was  sitting  at  his  lathe 
turning  a  candelabrum  of  ivory  for  the  Church  of  St.  Peter 
and  Paul,  in  gratitude  for  the  benefit  he  had  derived  from 
the  Martial  water  during  his  illness.  Then  he  started  carving 
out  of  birch-wood  a  little  Bacchus  with  grapes  for  the  lid 
of  a  goblet.  He  worked  with  as  much  zeal  as  if  his  liveli- 
hood depended  upon  it. 

At  4.30  a.m.  in  came  his  private  secretary,  Makaroff. 
The  Tsar  took  his  place  at  a  walnut-wood  desk — so  high 
that  the  chin  of  a  man  of  medium  height  was  but  level 
with  it,  and  began  to  dictate  decrees  to  the  different  Colleges 
or  Departments,  which  were  being  established  in  Russia  on 
the  advice  of  Leibnitz,  "  following  the  example  and  prece- 
dent of  other  civilised  Empires." 

"  As  in  a  clock,  one  wheel  sets  the  other  in  motion,"  said 
the  philosopher  to  the  Tsar,  "  so  in  the  great  administrative 
machine  one  college  ought  to  work  another,  and  if  every- 
thing is  harmoniously  organised  in  exact  proportions,  then 
the  hands  of  the  state  clock  will  invariably  point  to  happy 
hours  for  your  whole  country." 


334  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Peter  loved  mechanics,  and  the  thought  of  converting 
the  government  into  a  machine  dehghted  him.  Yet  what 
seemed  so  simple  in  theory,  proved  far  otherwise  in 
practice. 

The  Russian  people  neither  understood  nor  liked  the 
idea  of  colleges,  and  mockingly  called  them  "  kaleki," 
which  means  cripples.  The  Tsar  had  invited  learned 
foreigners  "  versed  in  law."  They  worked  through  the 
medium  of  interpreters.  This  however  did  not  answer. 
Young  Russian  clerks  were  then  despatched  to  Konigsberg, 
"  to  learn  the  German  language  and  thereby  facilitate  the 
working  of  the  Colleges,"  and  supervisors  were  sent  with 
them  to  prevent  them  from  idling.  But  the  supervisors  idled 
with  the  supervised.  The  Tsar  published  a  decree  :  "  All 
colleges  are  obliged  to  draw  up  regulations  for  their  work 
on  the  Swedish  model.  If  some  of  the  points  in  the  Swedish 
regulation  are  inapplicable,  or  are  unsuited  to  the  conditions 
of  this  Empire,  the  same  should  be  altered  at  discretion." 
But  judgment  was  sadly  lacking,  and  the  Tsar  felt  the  new 
institutions  would  prove  as  inefficient  as  the  old  ones. 
"  It  is  all  in  vain,"  he  thought,  "  until  the  direct  good, 
the  supreme  patriotic  interests  of  the  Empire  is  realised — 
a  thing  that  can't  be  expected  for  another  hundred  years, 
at  least." 

The  orderly  announced  a  Foreign  Office  translator, 
Koslovsky.  A  young  man  came  in,  haggard,  pale  and 
consumptive-looking.  Peter  rummaged  among  his  papers 
and  gave  to  him  a  manuscript  corrected  and  marked  with 
pencil  notes  on  the  margin  ;  it  was  a  treatise  on  mechanics. 

"  It  is  badly  translated.     It  must  be  done  over  again  !  " 

"  Your  Majesty,"  stuttered  Koslovsky  in  fear  and 
trembling,  "  the  author  himself  has  written  the  book  in 
very  involved  language.  More  mindful  of  the  subtlety 
of  his  philosophical  style  than  of  the  benefit  people  could 
derive  from  the  book,  he  is  abbreviated  and  abstruse.  For 
my  part  with  my  dull  brain  I  cannot  possibly  follow  him." 

The  Tsar  patiently  instructed. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  translate  literally,  but,  having 
ascertained  the  meaning  clothe  it  in  language  which  can 
best  convey  it,  employing  only  what  is  necessary  for  pre- 
senting the  main  ideas.     To  try  and  retain  the  style  is  not 


PETER    THE    GREAT  335 

necessary.  Your  matter  should  be  useful  and  not  written 
for  effect,  without  any  superfluous  words  which  only  waste 
time  and  distract  the  reader's  attention.  Avoid  the  high- 
flown  Slavonic  style,  and  write  the  plain  Russian  speech. 
Do  not  use  high  sounding  words  but  the  language  of  the 
Foreign  Office.  Write  as  you  speak,  simply.  Do  you 
understand  me  ?  " 

"  Quite  so,  your  Majesty,"  answered  the  translator, 
with  the  precision  of  a  soldier,  yet  he  hung  his  head  with 
as  melancholy  an  air  as  if  he  remembered  the  fate  of  his 
predecessor  Boris  Wolkoff,  also  a  translator  to  the  Foreign 
Office,  who  in  despair  over  a  French  book  on  gardening, 
'  Le  jardin  de  Quintiny,'  and  afraid  of  the  Tsar's  wrath, 
opened  his  veins,  and  perished. 

"  Well  go,  God  be  with  you  !  Put  all  your  heart  in  the 
work  !  And  also  tell  Avramoff  that  the  type  in  the  new 
books  is  fatter  and  not  so  clean  as  in  the  older  ones.  The 
types  of  letters  B.  and  P.  must  be  altered,  they  are  too 
broad.  The  binding  also  is  defective,  especially  as  he 
binds  the  pages  together  too  tightly;  the  books  won't 
close.  He  should  sew  them  at  the  hinges  more  loosely  and 
give  them  more  space  at  the  back." 

When  Koslovsky  left  him,  Peter  remembered  the  dreams 
of  Leibnitz  about  a  general  Russian  Encyclopedia — the 
quintessence  of  sciences,  such  as  was  not  yet  in  existence  ; 
a  Petersburg  Academy,  the  college  of  learned  administrators 
with  the  Tsar  at  their  head  ;  a  future  Russia,  which  having 
surpassed  Europe  in  knowledge,  would  act  as  lighthouse 
of  the  world. 

"  That  bread  will  be  long  in  baking,"  thought  Peter  with 
a  bitter  smile.  "  Before  we  can  begin  to  teach  Europe 
we  must  ourselves  learn  to  speak  Russian,  write,  print, 
bind  and  make  paper." 

He  dictated  an  ukase  : — 

"  In  all  towns  and  villages  all  bits  of  rags  and  linen  should 
be  carefully  collected  and  sent  to  the  chief  office  in  Peters- 
burg, where  fourpence  per  pood  will  be  paid  for  them." 

These  rags  were  intended  for  the  paper  factories. 

Then  followed  the  ukase  about  the  melting  of  fat,  the 
right  way  of  plaiting  bast  shoes,  and  the  dressing  of  hides 
for  boot  leather  :   "  Inasmuch  as  the  hide  commonly  used 


336  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

for  shoe  leather  is  exceedingly  unfit  for  wear,  being  dressed 
with  tar,  which  does  not  prevent  it  from  rotting,  nor  from 
letting  water  in  in  damp  weather,  it  would  be  more  expe- 
dient to  dress  the  same  with  train  oil." 

He  glanced  at  his  slate,  which,  together  with  a  piece  of 
pencil,  hung  at  the  head  of  his  bed  ;  he  used  to  note  on  it 
any  thought  which  occurred  to  him  during  the  night. 
That  night  he  had  jotted  down  : 

"  Where  should  manure  be  deposited  ?  Don't  forget 
Persia — mats." 

He  made  Makaroff  read  out  the  ambassador  Volinsky's 
letter  concerning  Persia. 

"  The  present  monarch  here  is  such  a  fool  that  it  would 
be  difficult  to  find  his  equal  even  among  simple  peasant 
folk,  much  less  among  the  crowned  heads.  His  power  will 
not  last  long.  Although  our  present  war  with  the  Swedes 
may  hinder  us,  yet,  nevertheless,  seeing  the  feeble  resources 
of  this  country  as  I  do,  I  deem  it  possible  to  annex  a  major 
part  of  Persia  simply  with  a  small  force.  There  could  not 
possibly  be  a  more  favourable  time  than  the  present." 

In  his  answer  to  Volinsky,  Peter  ordered  him  to  send 
merchants  down  the  river  Amu-Daria  in  order  to  discover 
a  water  way  to  India,  and  to  draw  a  map  describing  it.  At 
the  same  time  to  prepare  a  letter  to  the  Grand  Mogul — the 
Dalai  Lama  of  Tibet.  (A  road  to  India,  an  alliance  between 
Europe  and  Asia,  was  an  old  dream  of  Peter's.) 

Some  twenty  years  ago,  a  Russian  church  had  been 
erected  in  Pekin,  in  honour  of  St.  Sophia — the  Wisdom  of 
God. 

"  Le  Czar  pent  unir  la  Chine  a  1' Europe,"  prophesied 
Leibnitz.  "  The  Tsar's  conquests  in  Persia  will  lay  the 
foundation  of  an  Empire  greater  than  that  of  the  Romans," 
the  foreign  diplomats  warned  their  sovereigns.  "  The 
Tsar,  like  another  Alexander,  strives  to  conquer  the  world," 
said  the  Sultan. 

Peter  reached  down  from  a  shelf,  an^  unfolded  a  map  of 
the  globe  which  he  had  once  drawn  himself  while  musing  on 
Russia's  destiny.  With  the  words  Europe  on  the  west, 
Asia  towards  the  soith,  and  on  the  space  between  the 
headland  Tchoukotsk,  and  the  Niemen  and  across  from 
Archangel  down  to  Astrakhan  the  word  RUSSIA  appeared 


PETER    THE    GREAT  337 

in  the  same  sized  letters  as  EUROPE  and  ASIA.  "  They 
are  all  mistaken  in  calling  Russia  '  an  Empire  '  ;  it  is  half 
the  world." 

But  the  next  moment,  with  his  usual  ductile  will  power, 
he  turned  sharply  from  musings  to  business,  from  the 
grandiose  to  the  petty.  He  began  to  dictate  ukases  as  to  a 
fit  place  for  the  deposit  of  manure  ;  on  the  substitution 
of  hair  sacks  for  sacks  of  matting  in  which  to  carry  biscuits 
to  the  galleys  ;  and  barrels,  or  linen  bags,  for  grain  and 
salt,  "  mats  should  on  no  account  be  used  " ;  on  the  saving 
of  lead  bullets  used  at  practice-firing  ;  the  preservation 
of  forests  ;  "  the  prohibition  of  hollowed-out  trunks  for 
coffins  ",  which  were  to  be  made  of  planks.  N.  B. — England 
to  be  written  to  for  a  model." 

Then  he  turned  over  the  pages  of  his  notebook  to  ascertain 
whether  anything  of  importance  had  been  forgotten.  The 
first  page  bore  the  inscription  :  "In  Gottes  Namen  " — 
"  In  the  Lord's  name."  Then  followed  various  notes  and 
memoranda  :  sometimes  two  and  three  words  indicated  a 
long  train  of  thought — 

"  Of  a  certain  discovery  which  will  help  to  find  out 
various  mysteries  in  nature." 

"  Clever  experiments  :  how  to  extinguish  earth  oil  with 
vitriol."  "  How  to  boil  hemp  in  saltpetre  water."  "Buy 
the  secret  of  making  German  sausages." 

"  Draw  up  a  concise  catechism  for  the  peasants,  and 
have  it  read  in  churches  for  their  instruction." 

"  Exposed  foundling  infants  are  to  be  educated." 

"  Whaling  to  be  organised." 

"  The  fall  of  the  Greek  Monarchy  was  caused  by  con- 
terrpt  of  warfare." 

"  Order  French  Gazettes  to  be  sent." 

"  Engage  foreign  comedians  at  high  pay". 
Russian  proverbs.     A  Russian  lexicon." 

"  Chemical  secrets  for  testing  ore." 

"  If  it  be  true  that  laws  of  nature  are  rational,  why  then 
do  animals  devour  one  another  ?  and  why  do  we  cause 
them  so  much  suffering  ?  " 

"  Present  and  past  judgments  against  atheists." 

"  Compose  a  prayer  for  the  soldiers  :  Great,  eternal, 
Holy  God,  etc." 

Y 


338  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  journal  of  Peter  recalled  the  diary  of  Leonardo 
da  Vinci. 

At  six  in  the  morning  he  began  to  dress.  PuUing  on  his 
stockings  he  noticed  a  hole  ;  he  sat  down,  got  a  needle 
and  a  ball  of  wool,  and  began  darning.  Ruminating 
about  a  road  to  India  in  the  footsteps  of  Alexander  of 
Macedonia,  he  darned  his  stockings. 

Then  he  had  some  anisette  brandy,  with  a  cracknel ; 
lit  his  pipe  ;  went  ouc  of  the  palace,  and  drove  in  a  cab- 
riolet with  a  lantern  (for  it  was  yet  dark)  to  the  Admiralty. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  Admiralty  pinnacle  glowed  dimly  through  the 
fog,  reflecting  the  flames  of  fifteen  dockyard  fur- 
naces. Out  of  the  gloom  there  rose  the  black  outline  of 
a  monstrous  skeleton  ;  the  hull  of  a  new  ship.  Cables, 
lay  coiled  like  gigantic  serpents.  Pulleys  squeaked,  ham- 
mers sounded,  iron  rattled,  pitch  was  boiling.  In  the  red 
glare  men  flitted  to  and  fro  like  shadows.  The  dockyard 
resembled  the  forges  of  hell, 

Peter  went  hither,  thither,  inspecting  everything. 

He  verified  in  the  gun  department  the  entry  of  the 
calibre  of  cast  cannon  balls  and  shells  which  were  piled  in 
pyramids,  under  shelter — to  prevent  the  rust  eating  them  ; 
whether  the  flint  locks  and  barrels  of  the  muskets  had 
been  filled  with  fat  ;  whether  the  ukase  concerning  cannon 
had  been  carried  out  :  "It  must  be  ascertained  with  the 
help  of  a  mirror  whether  the  inside  of  the  barrel  was  quite 
smooth,  or  whether  the  handles  to  the  muzzle  had  formed 
flaws  and  bulgings  ;  should  any  such  flaws  have  occurred 
their  depth  must  be  measured." 

He  could  tell  by  the  smell  the  different  qualities  of  walrus 
fat ;  tested  by  handling  the  weight  of  sailcloth,  and  whether 
its  lightness  were  due  to  the  fine  texture,  or  to  flimsiness. 
He  talked  with  the  foremen  as  to  equals. 

"  The  boards  must  be  planed  to  fit  tightly.  Choose 
well-seasoned  wood  ;  for  should  it  be  caulked  before  it  is 
quite  dry,  then  it  will  not  only  shrink,  but  also  bulge  out  in 
the  water  and  compress  the  caulk." 

"The  oak  should  be  young;  with  a  bluish,  and  never  a 
reddish  hue.     Made  of  such  oak,  the  vessel  will  be  as  hard 


340  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

as  iron,  even  a  bullet  could  not  pierce  it  further  than  two 
inches." 

In  the  hemp  stores,  he  took  handfuls  from  the  bales, 
and,  holding  the  hemp  between  his  knees,  carefully 
examined,  shook  and  tested  it  like  an  expert.  "  Ship 
cables  for  mooring  are  of  great  consequence  ;  they  ought 
to  be  made  of  the  very  best  and  strongest  hemp.  When 
the  cable  is  trustworthy,  the  vessel  is  safe  ;  if  faulty, 
vessel  and  crew  are  doomed."  On  all  sides  the  Tsar  was 
heard  rating  the  agents  and  contractors  : — 

"  I  see  that  during  my  absence  the  work  has  gone  side- 
long, like  a  crab,  at  snail's  speed." 

"  I  shall  be  obliged  to  bring  you  to  order  by  demanding 
from  you  extra  work,  and  by  a  merciless  infliction  of 
corporal  punishment." 

"  Just  wait  a  bit,  I  will  give  you  a  keepsake,  which  you 
won't  forget  till  next  spring !  " 

He  cut  short  lengthy  speeches.  One  day,  when  a  distin- 
guished foreigner  elaborated  some  unessential  detail,  he 
spat  in  his  face,  reviled  him  obscenely,  and  turned  away. 

To  a  clerk  who  cheated,  he  remarked  :  "I  will  score  on 
your  back  the  figures  you  failed  to  put  on  paper." 

To  a  petition  for  raising  the  stipend  of  the  Admiralty 
Councillors,  he  answered  : — 

"  Nonsense  !  they  are  more  anxious  to  fill  their  pockets 
than  to  render  good  service." 

When  he  learnt  that  several  of  the  vessels  belonging  to 
the  galley-fleet  had  been  supplied  with  rotten  salt  beef, 
so  that  the  soldiers  during  five  weeks  had  to  content  them- 
selves with  stale  smelts  and  water,  which  caused  i,coo 
men  to  fall  ill,  and  be  unfit  for  work,  his  anger  passed  all 
bounds.  He  almost  struck  an  old  captain  who  had  distin- 
guished himself  in  the  Yarqut  engagement. 

"  Should  you  do  such  an  idiotic  thing  again,  don't 
lament  being  dishonoured  in  your  old  age  !  Why  should 
such  important  business,  a  thousand  times  more  valuable 
than  your  head,  be  transacted  with  such  carelessness  ? 
Probably  you  seldom  read  the  Military  Regulations.  The 
officers  of  the  galleys  in  question  will  be  hanged,  and  you 
almost  deserve  as  much  for  your  gross  neglect."  But  he 
dropped  his  raised  hand  and  mastered  his  wrath. 


PETER    THE    GREAT  341 

"  I  should  never  have  expected  this  from  you,"  he  added 
in  an  undertone  ;  but  such  rebuke  was  in  his  tone  that  the 
guilty  one  would  have  preferred  a  blow. 

"  Now  take  care,"  said  Peter,  "  that  such  cruelty  shall 
not  recur  ;  for  in  God's  sight  it  is  the  greatest  of  sins, 
I  have  recently  heard  that  here  in  the  Petersburg  dock- 
yards, last  year,  the  working  men  were  utterly  neglected, 
especially  the  sick,  and  that  even  dead  bodies  were  allowed 
to  remain  lying  about  the  streets,  which  is  revolting  not 
only  to  Christians,  but  even  to  barbarians.  I  cannot 
understand  this  lack  of  compassion.  They  are  not  cattle 
but  Christian  souls,  for  which  we  shall  have  to  answer 
before  God." 


CHAPTER   III 

PETER  drove  in  his  cabriolet  along  the  quay  to  the 
Summer  Palace,  where  he  was  staying  that  year 
until  late  autumn,  owing  to  alterations  which  were  going 
on  in  the  Winter  Palace. 

He  was  wondering  why,  in  the  olden  days,  he  used  to 
delight  at  going  home  to  dinner  and  meeting  his  wife, 
while  now  it  seemed  almost  burdensome.  He  remembered 
anonymous  letters  full  of  hints  with  regard  to  his  wife  and 
the  handsome  young  German,  the  gentleman  in  waiting, 
the   Kammer-junker   Mons. 

Catherine  had  always  been  a  faithful  wife  and  true  help- 
mate. She  had  shared  all  his  toils  and  dangers ;  she  had 
followed  him  in  his  campaigns  like  a  common  soldier's 
wife.  During  the  Pruth  campaign,  acting  in  a  truly  manly 
way,  she  saved  the  whole  army.  He  called  her  his  mother. 
When  without  her  he  felt  helpless,  and  complained  as  a 
child  :— 

"  Mother,  there  is  no  one  to  wash  clothes  and  mend  for 
me." 

They  used  to  feign  jealousy  of  one  another  for  fun. 

"  On  reading  your  letter,  I  fell  a  thinkmg  profoundly. 
You  write  bidding  me  not  to  hurry  home,  for  the  sake  of  the 
cure  ;  but  it  is  more  likely  you  have  found  somebody  else  a 
little  younger  than  myself.  Please  write  and  tell  me 
whether  it  is  one  of  our  own,  or  a  foreigner.  That  is  how 
you  women  treat  us  poor  old  men  !  " 

"  I  don't  accept  the  term,  old  man,"  she  replied ;  "  it's 
all  nonsense  to  call  yourself  one.  I  am  sure  that  so  dear  an 
old  man  will  easily  find  some  one  to  love  him  !  Is  that 
what  you  think  of  me  ?  Well  !  I  too  have  heard  that  the 
Swedish  queen  is  in  love  with  you.     I  have  my  suspicions  !  " 


PETER   THE    GREAT  343 

When  they  were  separated  they  were  wont  to  exchange 
gifts  hke  affianced  lovers.  Catherine  would  send  to  him 
at  a  distance  of  a  thousand  miles,  Hungarian  wine,  strong 
vodka,  freshly  salted  cucumbers,  lemons,  oranges,  because 
— "  our  own  will  be  more  agreeable  to  you.  I  hope  they 
will  do  you  much  good." 

But  the  presents  he  most  delighted  in  were  children. 
With  the  exception  of  the  two  elder  ones,  Lisa  and  Anne, 
they  came,  however,  into  the  world  puny  things,  and  soon 
died.  Most  of  all  he  loved  the  last  born,  Peter,  "  The 
Master  of  Petersburg,"  who  had  been  proclaimed  heir  to 
the  throne  in  Alexis'  stead.  Peter,  too,  was  a  sickly  child, 
always  ailing,  and  only  kept  alive  by  medicine.  The  Tsar 
was  in  continual  dread  of  losing  him.  Catherine  used  to 
comfort  the  Tsar,  saying  :  "I  dare  say  if  our  dear  old  man 
were  here,  we  might  have  another  Peterkin  before  the 
year  is  over." 

There  was  a  certain  affectation  of  sentiment  mingled 
with  this  conjugal  tenderness,  the  sentimentality  of  a 
gallant,  quite  unexpected  in  a  fierce  Tsar. 

"  1  have  had  my  hair  cut  here,  and  though  it  may  not 
be  a  very  pleasing  gift,  yec  herewith  I  enclose  a  lock." 

"  I  have  received  your  beloved  hair  and  am  glad  to 
learn  you  are  well." — "  I  am  sending  you,  my  sweetheart ! 
a  flower  and  a  sprig  of  mint  which  you  yourself  have 
planted.  I  am  glad  to  say  all  goes  well  here,  only  it  feels 
so  lonely  without  you  in  the  garden."  This  he  wrote  from 
Revel,  from  her  favourite  garden,  Catherinenthal.  The 
letter  contained  a  withered  blue  flower,  mint,  and  a  cutting 
from  an  English  newspaper  :  "  Last  year  on  the  eleventh  of 
October,  there  arrived  in  England  from  the  county  of 
Monmouth  two  people  who  had  lived  in  wedlock  one 
hundred  and  ten  years,  the  man  was  one  hundred  and 
twenty-six  years  old,  and  the  woman  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five."  As  much  as  to  say  :  "  May  God  grant  us 
as  long  a  time  in  the  happy  state  of  matrimony  !  " 

And  now,  on  the  verge  of  old  age,  on  this  melancholy 
autumn  morning,  he  mused  over  the  life  they  had  lived 
together.  At  the  idea  that  Catherine  might  perchance 
be  false  to  him,  and  exchange  her  "  old  man  "  for  the  first- 
come  handsome  boy,  some  German  of  base  origin,  he  felt 


344  PETLK  AND  ALEXIS 

neither  jealousy,  nor  anger,  nor  indignation,  only  the 
helplessness  of  a  child  forsaken  by  his  mother. 

He  gave  the  reins  to  his  orderly,  and,  sinking  back,  hung 
his  head.  The  jolting  of  the  carriage  over  the  uneven 
road  made  his  head  shake,  as  if  from  old  age,  and  his 
whole  figure  suggested  age  and  decrepitude. 

The  clock  beyond  the  Neva  struck  elev^en.  But  the 
morning  light  as  yet  only  suggested  the  lurid  look  of  a 
dying  man.  It  seemed  day  would  never  break.  Snow 
mingled  with  rain.  The  horse's  hoofs  splashed  sonorously 
through  the  puddles,  the  wheels  scattering  mud. 

Long  trains  of  grey  clouds  were  creeping  slowly  like  fat- 
bellied  spiders  across  the  skies,  so  low  that  they  completely 
shrouded  the  pinnacle  on  the  Peter  and  Paul  fortress  ; 
grey  water,  grey  houses,  trees  and  human  beings,  all  losing 
their  precision  in  mist,  seemed  but  dull  phantoms. 

When  Peter  reached  the  wooden  drawbridge  across  the 
Swan  Channel  there  came  from  the  Summer  Garden  a 
mortuary  smell  of  earth  and  damp  rotten  leafage,  which 
the  gardeners  were  sweeping  into  heaps  along  the  avenues. 
Rooks  were  cawing  in  the  bare  lime-trees.  The  clang  of 
hammers  was  heard  :  men  were  busily  engaged  in  nailing 
narrow  long  boxes  over  the  marble  statues  to  protect  them 
from  the  winter's  snow  and  frost.  It  seemed  as  if  the  risen 
gods  were  again  buried,  nailed  up  in  coffins. 

Through  the  dark,  lilac-hued,  wet  stems  gleamed  the 
bright  yellow  walls  of  a  Dutch  house,  many-windowed,  and 
with  glazed  doors  opening  on  the  garden  ;  with  its  iron 
checkered  roof,  a  weathercock  in  the  shape  of  St.  George 
the  Dragonslayer,  and  white  stucco  bas-reliefs  depicting  sea 
monsters,  Tritons  and  Nereides. 

This  was  the  Summer  Palace. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THERE  was  a  smell  of  sour  cabbage  soup  in  the  palace. 
This  soup  was  being  cooked  for  the  imperial  dinner. 
Peter  liked  it  ;  he  preferred  the  simple  dishes  of  the  soldiers. 

The  Tsar  disliked  spending  much  time  at  meals ;  the 
dishes  were  served  in  rapid  succession  through  a  window 
straight  from  the  kitchen.-  The  latter  was  neat,  tiled,  and  its 
walls  hung  with  bright  copper  pans — as  in  old  Dutch  houses. 

Besides  the  soup  the  dinner  consisted  of  buckwheat,  Flens- 
bourg  oysters,  brawn,  sprats,  roasted  meat,  with  cucum- 
bers and  pickled  lemons,  ducks'  feet  in  sour  sauce.  After 
dinner,  nuts,  apples  and  Limbourg  cheese  were  brought  in. 
For  drinks  kvas,  and  French  red  wine.  One  servant  only 
waited  at  table. 

As  usual,  guests  were  invited  to  dinner  :  James  Bruce, 
the  Court  physician,  Blumentrost,  an  English  captain, 
the  Kammer- junker  Mons,  and  Miss  Hamilton,  lady-in- 
waiting.  Peter  had  invited  Mons  as  a  surprise  for  Cather- 
ine ;  and  when  she  heard  of  it,  she,  in  her  turn,  invited  the 
court  lady  Hamilton.  Perhaps  she  did  it  to  suggest  to  her 
husband  that  she  was  not  quite  ignorant  of  his  mistresses. 
It  was  that  same  Hamilton,  a  Scotchwoman  by  birth,  proud, 
pure,  cold  as  a  marble  Diana  to  look  at,  whose  name  had 
been  whispered,  when  in  the  Summer  Garden  the  body  of 
an  infant,  wrapt  in  a  napkin  belonging  to  the  palace,  had 
been  found  in  the  water  pipe  of  a  fountain.  At  table  she 
remained  silent ;  her  pale  face  seemed  bloodless. 

Conversation  flagged,  notwithstanding  Catherine's  efforts 
to  keep  it  going. 

She  related  a  dream  she  had  had — a  savage  v/hite- furred 
animal  with  a  crown  on  its  head  bearing  three  lighted 
candles,  repeatedly  roared  at  her. 


346  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Peter  was  fond  of  dreams,  and  would  often  at  night  note 
them  down  on  his  slate.  He,  too,  related  his  dream  :  Wate^ 
everywhere  ;  manoeuvres  at  sea  ;  vessels,  and  galleys  ; 
he  had  noticed  in  his  dream  that  the  sails  and  masts  were 
out  of  proportion. 

"  Ah,  little  father,"  Catherine  fondly  exclaimed  *'  you 
are  continually  worrying  about  the  ships ;  even  sleep  brings 
you  no  peace." 

And  when  he  lapsed  into  sullen  silence  she  began  to  talk 
about  the  new  ships.  "The  Neptune  is  an  exceedingly 
fine  vessel  and  sails  so  well,  that  it  is  really  the  flower 
of  the  fleet.  The  Gangtit  also  goes  well  and  obeys  her 
rudder  ;  only  she  is  not  rigid  enough  for  her  height,  and  the 
slightest  breeze  causes  her  to  slope  more  than  any  of  the 
others.  What  will  happen  to  her  in  stormy  weather  ?  I 
have  delayed  the  launching  of  the  large  sloop,  made  by 
Von  Renne,  until  your  arrival ;  and  to  prevent  it  warping 
had  it  covered  with  boards." 

She  spoke  about  the  ships  like  a  mother  of  her  children : 
"The  Gangut  and  the  Lesnoy  are  like  twin  sisters, unhappy 
apart  from  one  another.  Now  that  they  lie  together  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  see  them.  The  name  '  adopted  '  suits  well  the 
purchased  vessels  as  compared  with  ours  ;  for  they  can 
as  little  be  mistaken  for  ours  as  a  father  confounds  his 
own  child  with  an  adopted  one." 

Peter  answered  reluctantly,  as  though  preoccupied.  He 
was  stealthily  watching  her  and  Mons,  whose  smooth, 
immovable  face,  as  if  it  were  cut  out  of  some  pink  stone, 
his  blue  turquoise  eyes,  gave  the  Rammer- junker  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  porcelain  doll. 

Catherine  felt  that  her  husband  was  watching  them,  yet 
she  controlled  herself  perfectly  ;  even  if  she  knew  of  any 
charge  against  her,  she  manifested  no  alarm.  Only  her 
eyes,  when  looking  at  her  husband,  expressed  more  insinuat- 
ing tenderness  than  usual.;  and,  perhaps,  she  talked  a  little 
too  much,  passing  on  quickly  from  subject  to  subject, 
as  if  trying  to  distract  her  husband.  It  might  have  dawned 
upon  him  that  she  was  striving  to  charm  away  his  suspicions. 

She  had  hardly  ended  about  the  ships  before  she  began 
about  the  children  ;  Elizabeth  and  Anne  who  had  narrowly 
escaped  being  disfigured  by  smallpox  this  summer ;    the 


PETER   THE    GREAT  347 

little  Peter,  whose  health  had  grown  worse  with  his  last 
tooth. 

"  Still  he  is  gradually  picking  up  again  ;  already  he  has 
cut  five  teeth  ;  only  now  his  right  eye  gives  him  trouble." 

Peter  brightened  up  for  a  moment  and  began  to  question 
Blumentrost  about  his  boy's  health. 

"  The  eye  is  getting  better,  sir,"  the  doctor  replied, 
"  and  a  new  tooth  has  appeared  in  the  lower  jaw.  To-day 
he  is  rubbing  his  gums  further  back  with  his  little  fingers  ; 
that  means  the  molars  will  soon  be  coming." 

"He  will  be  a  brave  general,"  added  Catherine ;  "he 
delights  in  playing  at  soldiers,  and  his  great  joy  is  to  watch 
the  soldiers  exercise  and  hear  the  guns  go  off.  All  he  can 
say  is  '  papa,'  *  mamma,'  '  soldier.'  I  need  your  protection, 
father,  he  is  always  quarrelling  with  me  when  you  are 
away.  He  does  not  like  to  be  told  that  his  father  has  gone, 
and  he  rejoices  when  I  tell  him  that  papa  has  come."  She 
smiled  sweetly  at  her  husband. 

Peter  did  not  reply.  But  the  look  he  gave  her  and  Mons 
made  every  one  feel  uneasy.  Catherine  cast  her  eyes  down 
and  slightly  paled.  Hamilton  raised  her  eyes,  and  a  mock- 
ing smile  curved  her  lips.  Silence  ensued.  All  were 
alarmed. 

Peter,  as  though  nothing  had  happened,  turned  to  James 
Bruce  and  began  to  talk  with  him  about  astronomy, 
Newton's  system,  the  spots  on  the  sun  which  can  be  looked 
at  through  a  telescope,  if  the  glass  next  to  the  eye  be  smoked, 
and  the  forthcoming  solar  eclipse.  He  was  so  engrossed 
in  this  conversation  that  he  noticed  nothing  else  to  the  very 
end  of  the  meal.  Before  leaving  the  table  he  pulled  out  his 
diary  and  noted  down  : 

"  Mem  : — ^To  inform  the  people  about  the  forthcoming 
solar  eclipses  in  order  to  prevent  them  being  regarded  as 
miraculous  ;  since  that  which  is  foretold  ceases  to  be  a 
miracle.  Nobody  should  be  allowed  to  invent  and  spread 
false  rumours  about  supposed  miracles,  which  serves  no 
purpose  except  to  upset  people." 

All  breathed  more  freely  when  Peter  rose  from  the  table 
and  went  into  the  next  room. 

He  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair  close  to  the  fire,  put  on  his 
round,  iron-rimmed  spectacles,  lit  his  pipe,  and  began  to 


348  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

look  through  the  new  Dutch  papers,  marking  on  the 
margin  what  was  to  be  translated  for  the  Russian  news- 
papers. 

Then  he  made  another  note  in  his  diary  : 

"  Publish  everything  in  full  :  both  good  and  bad  news  ; 
nothing  should  be  concealed." 

A  pale  sunbeam  escaped  from  behind  the  clouds  ;  it  was 
timid,  feeble,  like  the  smile  of  a  dying  man.  A  luminous 
square  spread  from  the  window  across  the  floor  to  the  fire- 
place ;  the  red  flame  paled,  and  grew  transparent.  Out- 
side the  branches  stood  sharply  outUned  against  the  clear 
silvery  sky.  An  orange- tree  grown  in  a  barrel,  which  was 
generally  carried  from  one  hothouse  to  another,  being  deli- 
cate and  sensitive  to  cold,  rejoiced  to  see  the  sun,  and  its 
fruit  glowed  among  the  dark  clipped  foliage  like  golden 
balls.  Amid  the  dark  tree  stems  gleamed  white  marble  gods 
and  goddesses,  the  few  which  had  not  yet  been  hidden  in 
their  coffins  ;  they  too,  naked  and  chilled,  seemed  to  hasten 
to  warm  themselves  in  the  sun. 

Two  little  girls  came  running  into  the  room  ;  the  nine- 
year  old  Anne,  with  black  eyes,  white  skin  and  rosy  cheeks, 
quiet,  grave,  fat  and  rather  heavy,  "  a  little  barrel," 
as  Peter  was  wont  to  call  her.  The  younger  one,  Lisa, 
aged  seven,  with  golden  curls,  blue  eyes,  sprightly  as  a 
bird,  noisy,  mischievous,  slack  at  her  lessons,  and  caring 
for  only  games,  dancing  and  songs,  was  very  pretty  and 
already  quite  a  little  flirt. 

"  Aha !  you  rascals  !  "  exclaimed  Peter,  and  laying  aside 
the  newspapers,  he  put  out  his  hands  towards  them  with  a 
loving  smile.  He  embraced  and  kissed  them,  and  lifted 
them  one  on  to  each  knee. 

Lisa  pulled  off  his  spectacles  :  she  did  not  like  them 
because  they  made  him  look  older — quite  a  grandfather  to 
them.  Then  she  began  whispering  into  his  ear,  confiding 
to  him  hei   long-cherished  wish  : — 

"  The  Dutch  boatswain,  Issai  Koenig  told  me  about  a 
green  monkey  which  lives  in  Amsterdam.  It  is  very  tiny 
and  could  get  into  an  Indian  nut.  Papa,  darling,  it  would 
be  nice  if  I  could  have  that  monkey ! " 

Peter,  doubting  the  existence  of  green  monkeys, 
nevertheless  was  forced  to  promiee  solemnly,  with  a  two- 


PETER  THE  GREAT  349 

fold  oath,  that  he  would  write  by  the  next  courier  to  Amster- 
dam. Elizabeth  was  in  raptures  and  began  passing  her 
hand  through  the  blue  ringlets  of  smoke  which  escaped 
from  ^Peter's  pipe,  to  string  them  together,  as  she  ex- 
plained. 

Anne  talked  about  the  marvellous  docility  and  good 
nature  of  her  pet  Mishka,  the  tame  seal  which  lived  in  the 
middle  fountain  of  the  Summer  Garden. 

"■  Why  couldn't  we  have  a  saddle  made  for  him  and  ride 
him  like  a  horse  ?  " 

"  And  suppose  he  dives,  won't  you  get  drowned  ?  "  asked 
Peter. 

He  talked  and  laughed  with  the  children  like  a  child. 

Suddenly  in  the  pier  glass  he  caught  sight  of  Mons  and 
Catherine  as  they  stood  in  the  adjoining  room  before  the 
Tsaritsa's  pet,  a  green  parrot,  feeding  it  with  sugar. 

"  Your  Majesty's a  fool,"  shrieked  hoarsely  the  parrot. 

He  had  been  taught  to  say  two  phrases  :  "  Good-morning, 
your  Majesty  ;  "  "  the  parrot  is  a  fool,"  but  he  joined  both 
sentences  in  one.  Mons  bending  down  to  the  Tsaritsa  was 
speaking  to  her  almost  in  whispers.  Catherine  lowered 
her  eyes,  slightly  blushed,  and  listened  with  the  affected 
mincing  smile  of  a  shepherdess  in  the  "  Journey  to  the  Isle 
of  Love." 

Peter's  face  grew  suddenly  dark.  Nevertheless  he  kissed 
the  children  and  affectionately  sent  them  away, 

"  Now  go,  go,  you  little  rascals  ;  Anne  will  give  my  greet- 
ings to  Mishka." 

The  sunbeam  vanished.  The  room  grew  dark,  damp 
and  cold.  A  crow  cawed  just  under  the  very  window. 
Again  the  hammer  was  heard  ;  the  last  of  the  risen  gods 
were  being  nailed  up  and  ensconced  in  their  coffins. 

Peter  sat  down  to  a  game  of  chess  with  Bruce.  He 
usually  played  well,  but  to-day  he  was  absent-minded.  He 
lost  his  queen  after  the  fourth  move. 

"  I  checkmate  with  the  queen,"  said  Bruce. 

"  Your  Majesty's — a  fool,"  cried  the  parrot. 

Peter  happened  to  lift  his  eyes,  aga-n  saw  Mons  and 
Catherine  reflected  in  the  same  glass.  They  were  so  en- 
grossed in  their  conversation  that  they  did  not  notice  how 
a  Httle  monkey,  like  a  little  devil,  had  crept  up  to  them  from 


350  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

behind,  and,  making  a  waggish  grimace,  stretched  out  one 
paw  to  hft  the  bottom  of  Catherine's  dress. 

Peter  jumped  up  and  with  his  foot  overturned  the  chess- 
board, scattering  the  pieces  over  the  floor.  He  dropped 
his  pipe,  it  broke  and  spilled  its  burning  ashes.  Bruce 
jumped  up  in  terror.  Catherine  and  Mons  turned  round, 
attracted  by  the  noise.  At  this  moment  Mary  Hamilton 
entered  the  room.  She  walked  as  in  a  dream,  as  it  were 
hearing  and  seeing  nothing.  Passing  the  Tsar  she  slightly 
inclined  her  head  and  looked  fixedly  at  him.  Her  beautiful 
lifeless  face,  which  struck  the  beholder  with  chill,  made 
her  resemble  one  of  those  goddesses  who  were  being  nailed 
up  in  their  coffins. 

The  Tsar  followed  her  with  his  eyes  till  she  had  dis- 
appeared behind  the  door  ;  then,  turning  to  Bruce  and  the 
overturned  chess-board,  he  said  in  apologetic  tones  : — 

"  Forgive  me,  Bruce,  it  was  an  accident !  " 

He  left  the  palace,  stepped  into  his  boat,  and  went  to 
rest  on  the  yacht. 


CHAPTER   V 

PETER  was  a  light  sleeper.  Walking  or  driving  past 
the  palace  at  night  was  forbidden.  As  it  was  im- 
possible to  avoid  all  noise  in  the  house  during  the  day  he 
slept  on  his  yacht. 

To-day  when  he  lay  down,  he  felt  wretchedly  tired. 
Possibly  he  had  got  up  too  early  and  worn  himself  out  at 
the  Dockyards.  He  yawned,  stretched  himself,  closed  his 
eyes,  and  was  already  beginning  to  fall  asleep,  when  he 
started  as  if  from  sudden  pain.  It  was  the  thought  of  his 
son  Alexis.  It  never  quite  left  him  ;  but  when  he  was 
quiet  and  by  himself  it  began  to  assert  itself  with  renewed 
vigour  like  a  probed  wound. 

He  tried  to  sleep,  yet  sleep  would  not  come.  Thoughts 
surged  through  his  brain. 

He  had  received  a  few  days  ago  Tolstoi's  letter  informing 
him  that  Alexis  would  on  no  consideration  return.  Would 
he  really  be  driven  to  go  to  Italy  himself,  and  begin  a 
war  with  the  Emperor  and  England,  perhaps  with  the 
whole  of  Europe,  now  when  he  ought  to  be  thinking  of 
nothing  save  the  termination  of  the  war  with  Sweden 
and  the  establishment  of  peace  ?  Why  should  the  Lord 
punish  him  with  such  a  son  ? 

"  Oh,  heart  of  Absalom  !  who  hatest  aU  thy  father's  work 
and  wishest  thine  own  father's  death,"  he  moaned  pressing 
his  head  against  his  hands. 

He  remembered  how  his  son  had  described  him  before  the 
Emperor  and  the  whole  world  as  a  malefactor,  a  tyrant,  an 
atheist.  How  his  son's  friends,  the  long-bearded  priests 
and  monk^,  called  him  Peter  the  Antichrist. 

"  Fools  !  "  he  thought  with  calm  contempt.  How  could 
he  have  accomplished  all  he  had  without  God's  help  ?  And 

36i 


352  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

how  could  he  help  believing  in  God  when  God  had  always 
been  with  him,  from  his  youngest  days  until  this  hour  ? 
Questioning  his  conscience  as  if  he  were  his  own  confessor, 
he  recalled  his  life. 

Was  it  not  God  who  had  implanted  in  his  heart  the  desire 
to  learn  ?  At  sixteen  he  scarcely  knew  how  to  write  :  and 
could  only  do  addition  and  subtraction  sums  with  the 
greatest  difficulty.  But  even  then  he  already  felt  what 
afterwards  he  so  clearly  realised.  "  The  salvation  of 
Russia  lies  in  knowledge.  All  other  nations  have  adopted 
the  policy  of  keeping  Russia  in  ignorance  and  have  pre- 
vented her  acquiring  knowledge,  especially  in  military 
affairs,  lest  she  should  realise  her  own  powers."  He  decided 
to  go  abroad  himself  and  learn.  When  this  decision  was 
known  in  Moscow,  the  Patriarch,  Boyars,  Tsaritsas  and 
Princesses  came  to  him,  laid  his  son  Alexis  at  his  feet,  wept, 
and  with  foreheads  bowed  to  the  floor  implored  him  not  to 
go  to  school  to  the  foreigners ;  for  the  like  had  never  hap- 
pened in  Russia  before.  The  people  too  wept,  and  saw  him 
off  as  if  to  his  death.  And  yet  he  went,  and  something  un- 
heard of  happened  ;  the  Tsar  took  into  his  hands  and  wielded 
an  axe  instead  of  a  sceptre.  "  My  rank  is  that  of  a  mere 
scholar,  and  I  need  teachers.  You  cannot  buy  for  money 
what  you  do  yourself."  And  God  blessed  his  labours  :  a  for- 
midable army  had  been  the  outcome  of  his  playing  at  soldiers, 
with  what  Sophia  contemptously  termed — "  grooms  and  riff- 
raff ";  the  little  toy  boats  in  which  he  sailed  on  aitificial  lakes 
had  led  to  a  victorious  fleet.  His  first  contest  with  the 
Swedes  was  the  defeat  at  Narva.  "  The  whole  action  was 
like  child's  play,  without  the  least  approach  to  miilitaryart. 
And  now  as  I  think  it  over,  I  consider  it  a  dispensation  of 
God,  for  when  this  misfortune  befell  us,  necessity  drove  us 
from  indolence  to  hard  work,  and  made  us  apply  ourselves 
to  the  study  of  military  art  night  and  day."  The  defeat 
seemed  hopeless.  Charles  XH  went  about  boasting,  "  whips, 
and  not  swords,  would  have  sufficed  to  have  driven  the 
Russian  canaille  not  only  from  their  own  country,  but  out  of 
the  world."  If  the  Lord  had  not  helped  him  then,  surely 
he  would  have  been  lost  ! 

There  had  been  no  copper  for  cannons.  Peter  melted  down 
church   bells.      The   monks   threatened  him  with   God's 


PETER  THE  GREAT  353 

punishment.  But  he  knew  God  was  with  him.  There 
were  no  horses  ;  men  harnessed  themselves  and  dragged 
the  new  artillery  "cast  in  tears." 

All  was  in  a  ferment  like  new  wine.  Outside  the  state 
war  ;  within  revolution,  a  mutiny  in  Astrakhan  and  Boula- 
\  insk.  Charles  crossed  the  Vistula,  the  Niemen,  and  entered 
Grodno,  two  hours  after  Peter  left  it.  Expecting  day  by 
day  to  see  the  Swedes  advance  towards  Moscow  or  Peters- 
burg, he  reinforced  both  cities,  and  prepared  them  for 
siege.  At  the  same  time  he  was  very  ill,  so  ill  that  his  life 
was  despaired  of.  Again  God  intervened.  Charles,  con- 
trary to  all  expectations  and  probabilities,  stopped  in  his 
course,  turned  south-west  and  marched  towards  Small 
Russia.  The  mutmy  subsided  of  itself.  "  The  Lord  had 
wonderfully  quenched  flame  with  flame,  and  showed  us 
anew  that  all  depends  not  on  man's  will  but  God's." 

Then  came  the  first  victories  over  the  Swedes.  At  the 
battle  of  Lesnoy,  having  stationed  Cossacks  and  Kalmucks 
with  spears  in  the  rear,  he  ordered  them  to  mercilessly 
demolish  all  deserters,  not  excepting  even  the  Tsar.  They 
stood  the  whole  day  under  fire,  their  ranks  remained 
unbroken,  they  did  not  yield  an  inch  ;  four  times  the  guns 
became  red  hot  with  firing,  four  times  the  pouches  and 
cartridges  boxes  had  to  be  filled  with  cartridges.  "  Since 
I  began,  to  serve,  I  have  not  witnessed  such  play.  We 
executed  this  dance  well  before  the  eyes  of  the  hot-headed 
Charles.  Henceforward  the  Swedes  became  more  manage- 
able." 

Poltava  !  Never  in  his  whole  life  did  he  feel  God's 
help  more  than  on  that  day.  Again  good  luck,  almost 
a  miracle!  On  the  eve  Charles  had  been  wounded  by  a 
Cossack's  stray  shot.  Again,  quite  at  the  beginning  of  the 
day  of  battle,  a  shell  struck  the  king's  litter.  The  Swedes 
thinking  Charles  was  killed,  confusion  ensued  in  their  ranks. 
Peter  looked  at  the  flying  Swedes  and  felt  he  was  lifted  on 
invisible  wings  ;  he  knew  the  day  of  the  Poltava  battle  was 
the  day  of  Russia's  resurrection,  and  the  radiant  sun  of 
that  day  the  sun  of  the  new  Russia. 

Now  the  existence  of  Petersburg  is  assured  ;  henceforth 
it  will  be  possible  to  sleep  peacefully  in  Petersburg.  This 
town,  created  in  defiance  of   the  elements,  amid  bogs  and 

z 


354  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

woods,  "grows  like  a  child  in  beauty,"  "it  is  a  holy  land, 
a  paradise  of  God."  Is  it  not  also  a  great  miracle,  a  sign  of 
God's  favour  towards  him,  which  will  not  pass  away  but 
remain  visible  before  the  face  of  the  coming  generations  ? 

And  now,  when  everything  seemed  to  be  accomplished, 
it  all  falls.  God  has  withdrawn,  and  abandoned  him  ? 
Having  granted  him  victories  over  external  foes  He  strikes 
Peter  in  his  very  heart,  in  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  in  his  son. 
His  son's  most  dreaded  allies  are  not  the  foreign  troops,  but 
the  armies  of  knaves,  parasites  and  extortioners  and  other 
worthless  folk  which  swarm  in  the  Empire. 

Peter  judged  how  things  would  go  after  his  death  by  the 
way  they  went  during  his  last  absence  from  Russia,  when 
in  the  space  of  a  couple  of  months  all  had  begun  to  creak 
and  stagger  like  some  old  vessel  which  had  struck  in  a  storm. 

Enormous  corruptions  sprang  into  being.  Ukase  succeeded 
ukase  in  regard  to  bribery,  the  last  always  more  severe  than 
the  preceding.  Nearly  every  one  of  them  began  with  the 
words  :  "  Should  any  one  defy  this  our  last  decree,"  but  it 
was  generally  followed  up  by  another  containing  the  same 
threats  and  the  addition  that  it  was  the  last. 

At  times  his  heart  would  sink  in  despair.  He  felt  a 
terrible  impotence.  Alone  against  them  all,  like  a  great 
wild  animal  bitten  to  death  by  gnats  and  flies. 

Realising  he  could  do  nothing  by  force,  he  resorted  to 
cunning.  He  encouraged  tale-bearing.  He  instituted 
a  special  order  of  informers.  This  started  universal 
chicanery  and  slander.  "  The  informers  see  nothing — 
do  not  attend  to  their  business,  but  live  like  parasites, 
shielding  one  another,  because  they  all  work  into  each 
other's  hands."  Knaves  denounce  knaves,  impeachers 
denounce  impeachers,  informers  informers,  and  the  arch 
informer  himself  appears  to  be  the  arch  knave. 

A  loathsome  abyss,  a  bottomless  cesspool,  stables  of 
Augeas  which  no  Hercules  can  cleanse.  Foulness  pene- 
trates everywhere — earth  becomes  mud,  or  dissolves  like 
the  snow  in  spring.  The  ancient  rot  re-appears  on  the 
surface.  A  stench  spreads  all  over  Russia,  such  as  rose  from 
the  Poltava  battlefield  which  drove  the  army  away,  choked 
by  the  stench  of  innumerable  corpses. 

Russian  hearts  are  dull  because  darkness  reigns  in  their 


PETER   THE   GREAT  355 

minds.  They  refuse  the  good  for  they  recognise  it  not. 
The  nobles  and  the  simple  folk  are  well  represented  by 
Jeremy  and  Thomas,  two  proverbial  characters  :  "  Jeremy 
does  not  teach  ;  and  Thomas  knows  nothing."  Laws  are 
powerless    in    that    state    of    things. 

"  Our  understanding  is  dull,  our  hands  unskilled,  the 
people  of  our  nation  are  heavy-minded,"  said  the  old 
people  to  him. 

Once  a  Dutch  boatswain  told  him  the  old  legend  : — 

"  Some  sailors  noticed  in  the  ocean  an  unknown  island. 
They  moored  their  vessel  to  it,  landed  and  made  a  fire  to 
cook  their  food.  Suddenly  the  earth  began  to  shake  and 
sank ;  they  narrowly  escaped  being  drowned  ;  what  seemed 
to  them  an  island  was  in  reality  a  sleeping  whale." 

Was  all  this  new  enlightenment  of  Russia  a  fire  made 
on  the  back  of  a  leviathan,  the  inert  mass  of  a  sleeping 
people  ? 

Cursed  labours  of  a  Sisyphus,  labour  similar  to  that  of  the 
convicts  on  Rogerwick,  who  build  a  breakwater;  no  sooner 
does  a  storm  rise  than  in  one  hour  the  labours  of  years  lie 
destroyed  ;  and  again  they  build,  and  again  it  is  destroyed, 
and  so  on  without  end. 

"We  all  see,"  an  intelligent  peasant  once  told  him,  "that 
you  are  a  great  sovereign  and  labour  hard,  but  with  little 
success,  because  helpers  are  wanting.  You  with  the  strength 
of  ten  inen  are  pulling  up  while  a  million  pull  down  hill ! 
What  can  come  of  this  ?  "  "A  burden,  a  terrible  burden," 
groaned  Peter  on  his  couch,  anguished  as  if  the  weight  of 
Russia  lay  on  him  alone. 

"  Wherefore  hast  thou  afflicted  Thy  servant  ?  and  where- 
fore have  I  not  found  favour  in  Th}'  sight,  that  Thou  layest 
the  burden  of  all  this  people  upon  me  ?  Have  I  conceived 
all  this  people  ?  have  I  begotten  them,  that  Thou  shouldest 
say  unto  me,  Carry  them  in  thy  bosom,  as  a  nursing  father 
beareth  the  sucking  child,  unto  the  land  which  Thou  swearest 
unto  their  fathers  ?  I  am  not  able  to  bear  all  this  people 
alone,  because  it  is  too  heavy  for  me.  And  if  Thou  deal  thus 
with  me,  kill  me,  I  pray  thee,  out  of  hand,  if  I  have  found 
favour  in  Thy  sight ;  and  let  me  not  see  my  wretched- 
ness !  " 

Suddenly  he  again  remembered  Alexis  and  felt  that  this 


356  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

terrible  burden,  the  deadly  inertia  of  Russia,  was  incarnate 
in  Alexis  alone,  his  own  son. 

At  last  by  a  supreme  effort  of  will  he  once  more  gained 
mastery  over  himself,  called  his  orderly,  dressed  and 
returned  by  boat  to  the  palace,  where  senators  accused  of 
bribery  and  corruption  were  arummoned  to  appear  before 
him. 


CHAPTER   VI 

PRINCE  MENSHIKOV,  Prince  James  and  Basil 
Dolgoruki,  Sheremetieff,  Shafiroff,  Jagushinski, 
Golovkin,  Apraksin  and  others  were  crowded  in  the  small 
reception  room  next  to  the  workshop. 

Fear  possessed  them  all.  They  remembered  how  two 
years  ago,  two  noble  extortioners,  Prince  Volkonsky  and 
Opouchtine,  had  been  publicly  flogged  and  had  their  tongues 
burnt  with  red  hot  irons. 

Strange  rumours  were  whispered  ;  officers  of  the  guard 
and  other  military  men  were  supposed  to  have  been  ap- 
pointed to  judge  the  senators. 

Yet  they  hoped  against  hope  that  the  storm  would  blow 
over,  and  all  would  again  revert  to  the  old  way.  They 
found  consolation  in  old  sayings  :  "  Who  has  not  sinned 
before  God  ?  who  is  found  guiltless  before  the  king  ?  They 
can't  hang  us  all.  Everybody  has  his  own  foibles. 
Every  man  thirsts  for  a  dainty.  Whether  honest  men  or 
knaves,  all  live  under  sin." 

In  strode  Peter.  His  face  was  hard-set  and  stern  ;  only 
his  eyes  were  flashing  and  the  left  corner  of  his  mouth 
twitched  slightly. 

Without  gretting  them,  without  inviting  them  to  sit 
down,  he  addressed  the  senators  with  words  evidently  pre- 
pared beforehand. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Senate  !  I  have  written  and  spoken 
to  you  many  times  about  your  negligencies,  self  indulgen- 
cies  and  entire  disregard  of  civil  laws  ;  my  words  have  had 
no  effect,  and  all  ukases  have  been  utterly  ignored.  I  repeat 
for  the  last  time,  it  is  vain  to  issue  laws,  if  they  are 
not  Ivept,  but  trifled  or  played  with  like  a  pack  of  cards, 
and  sorted  according  to   their  colours  ;   a  habit  unheard 


358  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

of  anywhere  else  except  in  our  country.  And  what  will  this 
corruption  lead  to  ?  If  robbery  is  allowed  to  pass  with  impu- 
nity, few  will  be  strong  enough  to  remain  untempted,  and 
thus,  little  by  little,  the  law  will  deter  none,  the  nation  will 
be  ruined,  and  God's  wrath  will  be  brought  down  upon  it. 
And  this,  more  surely  than  private  perfidy,  will  bring  the 
Empire  not  only  to  disaster  but  to  its  ultimate  fall.  There- 
fore it  is  meet  and  just  to  apply  the  same  punishment  to 
peculators  as  to  deserters  from  the  battlefield  or  traitors  to 
the  country." 

He  spoke  without  looking  at  anyone.  And  again  he 
was  conscious  of  his  impotence.  His  words  dropped  like 
water  off  a  duck's  back.  These  humble,  frightened  faces, 
and  averted  eyes,  all  expressed  the  same  thought. 
"  Whether  we  are  honest  men  or  knaves,  all  are  under  sin." 

"  Henceforward  no  one  must  trust  to  his  station,"  con- 
cluded Peter,  his  voice  trembling  with  wrath.  "  I  herewith 
declare,  that  a  thief,  whatever  his  rank,  even  though  he  be 
a  senator,  shall  be  judged  by  martial  law." 

"  This  cannot  be,"  began  Prince  James  Dolgoruki,  a  pon- 
derous old  man,  with  long  white  moustaches  on  his  bloated 
purple  face,  fixing  his  bright  childlike  eyes  on  the  Tsar. 
"  This  cannot  be,  Sovereign  ;  soldiers  cannot  sit  in  judgment 
over  senators.  You  will  not  only  disgrace  us  ;  it  is  an 
unheard  of  affront  to  the  whole  Russian  Empire." 

"  Prince  James  is  in  the  right,"  rejoined  Sheremetieff,  a 
Knight  of  Malta  ;  "  nowadays  the  whole  of  Europe  considers 
Russian  aristocrats  to  be  noble  knights.  Why  should  you 
disgrace  us.  Sovereign,  rob  us  of  our  knighthood  ?  Not  all 
of  us  are  robbers — " 

"  Who  is  innocent,  traitor  ?  "  cried  Peter,  his  face  con- 
torted with  wrath.  "  Do  you  imagine  I  do  not  know  you  ? 
I  do,  my  friend,  I  see  you  through  and  through !  Should  I 
die  to-day,  you  would  be  the  first  to  stand  up  for  that 
villain,  my  son.     You  are  all  siding  with  him." 

But  again  with  a  supreme  effort  of  will,  he  mastered  his 
wrath,  and  having  detected  Menshikov  among  the  rest  he 
said  in  a  hollow,  suppressed,  yet  perfectly  calm  voice  : — 

"  Alexander,  follow  me  !  " 

Together  they  went  into  the  workshop.  The  prince  was 
a  small  shrivelled-uj)  man,  frail-looking,  but  in  reality  strong 


PETER    THE    GREAT  359 

as  iron,  mobile  as  quicksilver,  with  a  thin  agreeable  face  and 
uncommonly  quick,  intelligent  eyes,  which  reminded  one 
of  the  street  boy,  who  had  at  one  time  called  out  "  Hot 
pies."  He  slipped  in  after  the  Tsar,  cowed  like  a  dog  going 
to  be  thrashed. 

The  short  fat  Shafiroff  sighed  with  relief  and  mopped  his 
brow.  Golovkin,  long  and  thin  as  a  pole,  quaked,  blessed 
himself  with  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  murmured  a  prayer. 
Jagushinski  had  fallen  back  in  an  arm-chair  and  groaned  ; 
fear  had  given  him  the  colic. 

Little  by  little,  as  the  angry  voice  of  the  Tsar  and  the 
monotonous  plaintive  voice  of  Menshikov  reached  them 
from  the  door — it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  the  words — 
all  grew  calmer.  Some  even  rejoiced  :  it  is  nothing  new 
for  the  Most  Serene  ;  he  can  stand  a  good  deal,  he  has  been 
used  to  the  Tsar's  cudgel  from  his  youth,  it  is  nothing  to 
him,  he  will  manage  to  get  over  it. 

Suddenly  shrieks  and  moans  came  from  inside.  The 
door  flew  open  and  out  dashed  Menshikov.  His  gold  em- 
broidered kaftan  was  torn,  the  blue  St.  Andrew's  ribbon 
was  tattered,  the  decorations  on  his  breast  dangled,  half 
torn  off,  the  wig  of  royal  hair — Peter  at  one  time  as  a  mark 
of  friendship  gave  him  his  hair  every  time  he  had  it  cut — 
was  all  on  one  side  ;  his  face  was  bleeding.  The  Tsar  came 
tearing  after  him,  with  an  unsheathed  short  sword,  and  a 
fierce  cry: 

"  I'll  catch  you,  son  of  a  bitch  ! " 

"  Peter  !  Peter  !  "  rang  out  Catherine's  voice  ;  as  usual 
she  had  appeared  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 

She  caught  hold  of  him  at  the  door,  locked  it  and  pressing 
her  whole  body  against  him,  she  clung  to  him,  hanging  on 
his  neck. 

"  Let  me  go,  let  me  go  !  I  must  kill  him,"  he  screamed, 
quite  beside  himself. 

But  she  only  huddled  closer  to  him,  repeating,  "  Peter  ! 
Peter  !  calm  yourself,  my  svt'eetheart.  Throw  the  knife 
away,  the  knife,  throw  it  away,  you  will  do  some  harm  with 
it." 

At  last  the  little  sword  dropped  from  his  hands.  He 
threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair,  his  body  twisted  in  violent 
convulsions.  And  again,  as  at  the  time  after  the  last  inter- 


36o  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

view  between  father  and  son,  Catherine  sat  down  on  the 
arm  of  the  chair,  took  his  head  between  her  hands  and 
pressed  it  against  her  breast  and  began  to  gently  stroke  his 
hair,  fondhng  and  caressing  him,  as  a  mother  her  sick  child. 
And  gradually  the  gentle  caress  soothed  him.  The  convul- 
sions grew  weaker.  He  continued  to  shudder,  but  less  and 
less  frequently.  He  no  longer  screamed,  only  moaned  as 
if  sobbing,  crying  without  tears. 

"It  is  hard,  ah,  so  hard  Catherine  !  I  can  bear  it  no 
longer  !  There  is  no  one  with  whom  I  can  talk  things  over. 
Not  one  helper.  Always  alone,  alone  !  Is  it  possible  for 
one  man  ?  Not  even  an  angel,  much  less  a  man  could  stand 
it the  burden  is  too  heavy  !  " 

The  moans  gradually  subsided,  at  last  they  ceased  alto- 
gether— he  fell  asleep. 

She  listened  to  his  breathing,  it  was  regular.  He  always 
slept  heavily  after  such  fits,  nothing  could  wake  him  as 
long  as  Catherine  would  sit  by  him.  While  one  hand  con- 
tinued to  encircle  the  head,  the  other  under  the  semblance 
of  a  caress  fumbled  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  kaftan  with 
the  quick  motion  of  a  thief.  Feeling  a  bundle  of  letters  she 
took  them  out,  looked  through  them  and  found  among 
them  a  large,  soiled,  evidently  anonymous  letter,  in  a  blue 
wrapper,  sealed  with  red  wax,  unopened  ;  She  guessed  it 
was  the  one  she  was  searching  for,  a  second  denunciation 
of  her  alliance  with  Mons,  more  alarming  than  the  first. 
Mons  (who  afterwards  died  by  torture)  had  warned  her  of 
the  blue  letter.  He  himself  had  learnt  about  it  from  the 
talk  of  some  drunken  servants. 

Catherine  was  surprised  her  husband  had  not  opened  the 
letter.  Was  he  afraid  to  learn  the  truth  ?  Turning 
slightly  pale,  with  teeth  closely  set,  yet  without  losing  her 
presence  of  mind,  she  looked  into  his  face.  He  was  peace- 
fully slumbering,  like  a  child  after  a  big  cry.  She  gently 
leaned  his  head  against  the  back  of  the  chair,  undid  a  few 
buttons,  crumpled  the  letter  up  and  pushed  it  down  into 
the  hollow  of  her  breast ;  then  stooped,  lifted  the  dirk  from 
the  floor,  slit  the  pocket  where  the  letters  had  lain,  and  also 
the  bottom  of  the  kaftan  along  the  seam,  so  that  the  cut 
could  be  easily  taken  for  a  chance  hole,  and  put  the  rest  of 
the  letters  back  in  the  pocket.  Should  Peter  notice  the  dis- 


PETER   THE    GREAT  361 

appearance  of  the  blue  letter,  he  would  easily  think  that  it 
had  dropped  through  into  the  lining  and  then  slipped  out 
through  the  rent  and  so  got  lost.  Holes  were  not  unusual 
in  the  Tsar's  well-worn  clothes. 

Catherine  did  all  this  in  a  second,  then  she  took  Peter's 
head  and  pressed  it  again  to  her  bosom  and  began  to  gently 
stroke,  fondle  and  caress  him,  looking  at  the  sleeping  giant 
as  a  mother  would  at  her  sick  child,  or  as  a  tamer  of  lions 
at  his  terrible  animal. 

He  woke,  composed  and  refreshed,  at  the  end  of  an  hour, 
as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Now  the  Tsar's  dwarf  had  recently  died.  The  funeral 
had  been  fixed  on  this  day  ;  it  was  to  be  one  of  those 
mock  pageants  Peter  was  so  fond  of.  Catherine  did  her 
best  to  persuade  him  to  postpone  the  funeral  till  the  morrow 
and  not  go  out,  but  have  a  rest  to-day.  Peter  paid  no 
heed  ;  he  ordered  the  drum  to  be  beaten,  the  standards  to 
be  hung  out.  As  though  it  were  for  some  very  important 
business,  he  hurriedly  got  himself  ready,  put  on  half  mourn- 
ing, half  masquerading  dress,  and  went  off. 


CHAPTER    VII 

CONCERNING   MONSTERS   AND   ABORTIONS 

"  QINCE  monsters  or  abortions  are  known  to  occur 
O  among  human  beings,  animals  and  birds,  and  are  in 
all  countries  collected  as  curiosities,  a  decree  was  issued 
some  years  ago  that  the  aforesaid  monstrosities  should  with 
us  also  be  presented  to  public  museums  ;  but  ignorant 
people  try  to  conceal  these  things,  thinking  such  deformities 
are  caused  by  the  devil,  or  by  witchcraft  and  spells, — which 
is  an  impossibility,  since  God  alone  is  the  Creator  of  every 
living  thing  and  not  the  devil,  who  has  no  dominion 
whatever  over  creatures. — Such  monstrosities  are  the 
result  of  internal  injury,  or  of  the  mother's  fear  and 
imagination  during  the  time  of  her  pregnancy.  There  are 
many  examples  of  children  bearing  the  marks  of  whatever 
frightened  their  mothers.  We  renew  this  decree,  so  that 
without  fail  such  aliortions  should  be  brought  to  the 
governors  of  each  town,  the  bringer  to  receive  payment  for 
the  same  as  follows  :  ten  roubles  for  the  body  of  a  human 
prodigy,  five  for  that  of  an  animal,  three  for  that  of  a  bird  ; 
if  alive,  a  hundred  roubles  for  a  human  prodigy,  fifteen  for  an 
animal,  seven  for  a  bird.  And  if  they  are  eAceptional 
more  will  be  given.  Those,  who  in  spite  of  this  decree, 
continue  to  conceal  abortions  must  be  reported,  and  when 
convicted  will  be  fined  a  tenth  of  what  their  }')rodigy  is 
worth  and  the  money  given  to  the  informers.  If  the  above- 
named  deformities  die,  they  shall  be  preserved  in  spirit, 
and  if  that  is  not  within  reach,  double-distilled  brandy  or 
plain  brandy,  and  securely  sealed  so  as  to  prevent  them  pu*- 
refying ;  the  brandy  will  be  paid  for  out  of  a  special  fund  ' 


PETER   THE   GREAT  363 

Peter  had  been  very  fond  of  his  "  Eminent  dwarf  "  and 
had  arranged  a  magnificent  funeral  for  him. 

First  came  thirty  choristers  walking  two  and  two,  all 
little  boys,  a  tiny  priest  followed  them,  robed,  and  with 
a  censer  in  his  hand  ;  he  had  been  chosen  from  among 
all  the  Petersburg  clergy  for  his  short  stature.  Six  small 
black  horses  covered  with  long  black  caparisons  were  drawing 
the  small  coffin  on  a  toy  carriage.  Then  solemnly,  hand  in 
hand,  under  the  guidance  of  a  diminutive  master  of  cere- 
monies, who  carried  a  huge  staff,  there  walked  twelve  pairs 
of  dwarfs,  in  long  black  mantles  bordered  with  white  crepe, 
and  the  same  number  of  female  dwarfs, — all  ranged  accord- 
ing to  their  size,  the  smaller  in  front,  the  taller  at  the  back, 
ranged  like  organ  pipes.  These  dwarfs  were  humpbacked, 
fat-bellied,  splay-mouthed,  splay-footed,  some  like  badger 
hounds  and  others  more  grim-looking  than  ludicrous.  The 
procession  was  flanked  on  both  sides  by  giant  grenadiers  and 
imperial  guards,  who  bore  in  their  hands  burning  torches 
and  funeral  tapers.  One  of  the  giants,  dressed  in  a  baby's 
shirt,  was  conducted  in  leading  strings  by  two  of  the  tiniest 
dwarfs  with  long  grey  beards ;  another,  swaddled  like  a  new- 
born infant,  was  drawn  in  a  carriage  by  six  tame  bears. 

Last  of  all  came  the  Tsar,  accompanied  by  all  his  generals 
and  senators.  Dressed  as  a  Dutch  naval  master-drummer, 
he  marched  along  with  an  important  air,  beating  the  drum. 

The  procession,  followed  by  the  crowd,  passed  along  the 
Nevsk}^  Prospect,  from  the  wooden  bridge  across  the  river 
Fontanka  to  the  cemetery  in  the  Jamskoy  Quarter. 
People  looked  out  of  their  windows,  ran  out  of  their  houses, 
and  seized  by  superstitious  fears,  did  not  know  whether 
to  cross  themselves  or  to  spit ;  while  the  foreigners  were 
saying — "  Such  a  procession  can  be  seen  nowhere  else 
save  in  Russia  !  " 

It  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Darkness  was 
swiftly  setting  in.  Wet  snow  fell  in  large  flakes.  Along 
both  sides  of  the  Prospect  the  two  rows  of  bare  limes 
and  the  low  roofs  of  the  houses  gleamed  in  their  white 
shroud.  The  fog  thickened.  In  the  muddy  yellow  mist 
illumined  by  the  dull  red  glare  of  the  torches  the  absurd 
procession  seemed  a  nightmare,  a  diabolical  suggestion. 

The  crowd,  though  frightened,  ran  after  it,  splashing 


364  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

in  the  mud  and  whispering  strange  weird  tales  about  the 
unclean  spirits  which  were  supposed  to  have  taken  up  their 
abode  in  Petersburg. 

Quite  lately  the  night-watchman  at  the  Troitsa  Church 
heard  a  noise  in  the  nave,  as  if  caused  by  hurried  footsteps. 
And  in  the  belfry  too,  somebody  had  been  running  up  and 
down  the  ladder  steps  so  heavily  that  the  floors  trembled, 
and  when  in  the  morning  the  clerk  went  to  ring  the  bells,  he 
saw  that  the  ladder  had  been  torn  off  and  the  bell  rope 
coiled  up. 

"  It  is  the  devil  himself,"  urged  some. 

"  Not  the  devil,  but  an  evil  spirit,"  suggested  others. 

An  old  woman,  who  sold  herrings  on  the  Ochta,  had  her- 
self seen  the  ghost  at  a  spinning  wheel,  quite  naked,  lean, 
black,  with  a  tiny  head  about  the  size  of  a  thimble  ;  you 
could  not  tell  the  body  from  a  straw. 

"Was  it  not  the  house-haunting  spirit?"  asked  some  one. 

"  House  spirits  don't  visit  churches,"  he  was  informed. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  a  stray  one  ;  they  are  liable  to  the  same 
plague  as  cows  and  dogs.     That's  why  they  play  pranks." 

"  It's  the  spring,  In  spring  the  house  spirits  moult,  they 
shed  their  old  skin;  that  is  the  reason  they  rummage  about." 

"  Whether  it  be  a  house  spirit,  devil,  or  ghost,  one  thing 
is  clear,"  they  all  agreed,  "  the  spirit  was  a  bad  one." 

In  the  muddy  yellow  mist  illumined  by  the  dull  red  flare 
of  the  torches,  which  cast  monstrous  shadows  from  the 
dwarfs,  the  procession  itself  seemed  to  be  a  manifestation 
of  things  evil. 

More  terrible  tales  yet  went  from  mouth  to  mouth  in  the 
crowd  as  the  dwarf's  funeral  went  by. 

On  the  Finnish  side  of  the  river,  a  priest,  for  the  perform- 
ance of  some  mad  act,  had  attired  himself  in  a  goat's  skin 
with  horns,  and  this  skin  had  at  once  stuck  to  him,  and  in 
this  guise  he  was  to  be  taken  at  night  to  execution.  The  son 
of  a  dragoon,  Zwarikin,  had  sold  his  soul  to  the  devil  "who 
had  appeared  to  him  in  the  shape  of  a  foreigner ;  the  compact 
had  been  signed  with  blood.  In  the  Apothecary's  garden, 
the  cemetery,  thieves  had  opened  a  grave,  broken  the 
coffin  and  begun  to  drag  out  the  body  by  his  feet.  They  did 
not  finish  however,  for  they  got  frightened  and  ran  away 
In  the  morning,  some  one  saw  the  feet  sticking  out  of  the 


PETER   THE   GREAT  365 

grave  ;  the  news  spread  of  the  resurrection  of  the  dead.  In 
the  Tartar  Quarter,  beyond  the  Crown  works,  an  infant  had 
been  born  with  a  cow-horn  for  a  nose,  and  in  the  Mitny  Dvor, 
a  pig  with  a  human  face.  "  These  are  bad  omens  for  the 
town  where  they  happened."  In  one  place  a  cock  with 
five  legs  had  appeared.  In  Ladoga  blood  had  rained  from 
the  sky.  The  earth  had  trembled  and  groaned  ;  three 
3uns  had  appeared. 

"  Some  evil  will  happen,  some  evil,"  they  all  repeated. 

"  Petersburg  will  perish — and  not  only  Petersburg,  but  the 
whole  world  is  coming  to  an  end.  The  day  of  judgment  ! 
Antichrist  !  " 

Frightened  by  these  tales,  a  little  boy,  dragged  along 
by  his  mother  in  the  crowd,  suddenly  broke  into  sobs  and 
screamed  with  fright.  A  woman  in  rags  with  a  half  crazy 
look,  began  shrieking  in  an  inhuman  voice.  She  was 
hurriedly  taken  to  a  neighbouring  house.  The  Tsar  did 
not  dally  with  these  hysterical  women  whom  the  people 
thought  were  possessed  ;  he  flogged  the  devil  out  of  them. 
"  The  tail  of  the  knout  reaches  further  than  the  devil's 
tail,"  he  used  to  remark  when  informed  of  the  pranks  of  Satan. 

Many  of  the  senators  and  nobles  showed  terror  in  their 
faces. 

Prior  to  the  procession  starting,  Shafiroff  had  handed  to 
the  Tsar  the  letters  of  Tolstoi  and  the  Tsarevitch,  brought 
by  messenger  from  Naples. 

The  Tsar  had  them  unopened  in  his  pocket ;  he  probably 
did  not  want  to  read  them  in  public.  Shafiroff,  however, 
from  a  short  note  received  by  him  from  Tolstoi  knew 
already  the  amazing  news  ;    it  spread  like  wildfire. 

"The  Tsarevitch  is  returning  !  " 

"  Peter  Tolstoi,  the  Judas,  has  lured  him  !  it  is  not  the 
first  he  has  led  to  perdition  !  " 

"It  is  said  the  father  has  promised  to  marry  him  to 
Afrossinia  !  " 

"Marry  him ?  What  next,  fool !  The  block,  not  marriage, 
is  in  store  for  him." 

"  And  suppose  the  marriage  comes  off  ? " 

"That  marriage  will  be  celebrated  in  the  he-goat's  bog; 
the  hest  man  and  match  maker — the  hatchet  and  block  !  " 

"Fool!    Fool!    He  j.s  running  blindfold  to  destruction." 


366  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  The  young  ox  is  on  the  brink  of  the  precipice." 

"  He  won't  keep  his  head  on  long  !  " 

"  No  !  He  may  be  pardoned.  He  is  the  Tsar's  own 
son,  not  a  stranger.  Even  the  serpent  does  not  devour  her 
young.     First  a  severe  lesson,  and  then  pardon." 

"It  is  too  late  to  teach,  he  is  no  longer  a  child  and 
adults  don't  change." 

"  They  should  have  taught  him  while  he  was  tall  as  a 
bench  is  wide  ;  but  now  that  he  covers  the  whole  length  of 
it,  it  is  too  late !  " 

"  Come  into  my  mortar,  and  I'll  bray  thee  with  my 
pestle,  sweetheart !   that  will  be  his  lesson  !  " 

"  They'll  soothe  the  child  finely,  he  won't  make  a  sound  ; 
they'll  see  to  that !  " 

"  And  we,  too,  shall  in  all  probability  have  a  hot  time." 

"  A  great  calamity,  brothers;  even  two  minds  are  not 
enough  to  get  one  out  of  this  scrape." 

Among  the  nobles,  as  among  the  people,  all  repeated. 

"  Evil  will  befall  us  !     Evil  will  befall  us  !  " 

Meanwhile  on  tramped  the  Tsar,  tramping,  marching 
through  the  mud,  beating  the  drum,  drowning  the  melancholy 
funeral  chants.  The  mist  thickened,  the  fog  grew  denser. 
Everything  seemed  to  lose  its  precision,  dissolve,  grow  phan- 
tom-like, and  the  whole  town,  together  with  its  people,  houses 
and  streets,  as  if  it  would  lift  in  another  instant,  together 
with  the  fog,  and  vanish  into  thin  air. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

ON  his  return  from  the  funeral  to  the  Summer  Palace, 
Peter  took  a  light  wherry  and  rowed  himself  across 
the  Neva  to  a  small  wooden  landing  stage  on  the  opposite 
shore. 

Here  on  the  river's  bank,  close  to  the  Trinity  Church, 
stood  a  small,  low  house,  one  of  the  first  buildings  erected 
by  the  Dutch  carpenters,  in  the  earliest  days  of  Petersburg 
— this  was  Peter's  first  palace  ;  it  resembled  the  modest 
huts  of  sailors  in  Saardam.  The  frame  work  was  made  of 
pine,  grown  in  the  wild  Keiwussary  bog  on  the  Birch 
Island  ;  it  was  painted  to  imitate  the  colour  of  bricks  and 
roofed  with  wooden  shingles  instead  of  tiles. 

The  rooms  were  low,  small,  and  only  three  in  number. 
On  the  right  side  of  the  hall  was  the  small  working-room, 
on  the  left,  the  dining-room,  and  beyond,  the  bedroom,  the 
smallest  of  the  three,  only  about  four  yards  long  and  three 
wide,  hardly  large  enough  to  turn  round  in.  The  furniture 
was  simple  but  homely,  in  the  Dutch  style.  The  ceilings 
and  walls  were  covered  with  white  canvas.  The  leaded 
windows  were  wide,  low,  and  provided  with  oak  shutters  on 
iron  hinges.  The  doors  were  hardly  made  for  Peter  ;  he 
had  to  stoop  in  order  to  prevent  his  head  knockmg  against 
the  lintel. 

After  the  Summer  and  Winter  Palace  had  been  built, 
this  little  house  stood  empty.  The  Tsar  seldom  slept  in 
it ;  only  when  he  wanted  to  be  quite  alone,  even  without 
Catherine.  On  entering  the  hall,  he  woke  the  servant,  who 
lay  snoring  on  the  felt  carpet,  ordered  a  light  to  be  brought, 
and  passed  into  the  working-room,  turned  the  key,  placed 
the  light  upon  the  table,  sat  down  in  the  arm-chair,  and  took 
out  of  his  pocket  the  letters  sent  by  Tolstoi,  Roumiantzev 


368  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

and  the  Tsarevitch.  Yet  before  unsealing  them  he 
again  stopped,  as  if  hesitating ;  he  listened  to  the 
measured,  sonorous  chimes  of  the  Troitsa  Church  clock. 
It  struck  nine.  When  the  last  sound  had  died  away,  a 
silence  ensued  as  in  those  days  when  Petersburg  was  not  in 
existence,  and  when  there  had  stretched  to  the  horizon 
only  endless  forests  and  impenetrable  marshes. 

At  last  he  broke  the  seal.  While  reading,  his  face  slightly 
paled,  his  hands  trembled.  When  he  reached  the  last 
words  in  his  son's  letter  :  "  and  will  leave  Naples  together 
with  your  envoys  in  a  few  days  for  Petersburg,"  joy  took 
his  breath  away  ;  he  could  not  read  any  further  He 
blessed  himself  with  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

Was  not  this  again  a  miracle,  a  sign  of  God  ?  He  had  been 
despondent,  miserable,  thinking  God  had  forgotten  him, 
and  here  again  God's  hand  was  revealed. 

He  felt  again  strong  and  vigorous,  years  younger,  equal 
to  any  work  or  exploit. 

Th^n  hanging  his  head,  and  looking  at  the  flickering 
flame  of  the  candle  he  fell  into  a  reverie. 

Wh^n  his  son  returned  what  should  he  do  with  him  ? 
"  Kill  him,"  he  used  to  think  in  his  fury,  when  there  seemed 
to  be  no  hope  of  his  return.  But  now  that  Alexis  was 
returning  his  fury  had  abated,  and  for  the  first  time  he 
asked  himself  the  question,  quite  calmly,  collectedly, 
"  Whit  shall  I  do  ?  " 

All  at  once  he  remembered  the  words  written  in  his  first 
letter,  sent  to  Naples  by  Tolstoi  and  Roumiantzev  :  "  I 
promise  and  declare  in  the  sight  of  God  that  you  shall  suffer 
no  punishment,  but  great  love  will  be  shown  unto  you, 
should  you  return."  Now  that  his  son  had  trusted  to  this 
oath,  it  acquired  an  awful  power. 

But  how  to  fulfil  it  ? 

To  forgive  his  son, — will  this  not  also  imply  forgiveness 
for  all  other  traitors  to  Tsar  and  country  ?  A  number 
of  worthless  people,  peculators,  thieves,  parasites,  hypo- 
crites, monks,  the  whole  party  of  stupor  and  reaction  will 
join  themselves  to  him  and  grow  so  fearless  that  no  law 
will  deter  them.  This  will  bring  about  the  ruin  of  the 
Empire.  And  if  his  son  in  his  father's  lifetime  so  braves 
his  father,  what  will  he  do  after  his  death  ?     "He  will 


PETER   THE   GREAT  369 

destroy,  scatter  everything,  not  one  stone  will  be  left  in 
its  place,  he  will  ruin  Russia " 

No,  better  break  the  oath  than  pardon  ! 

This  will  involve  renewed  examinations,  tortures,  piles 
of  blazing  wood,  axes,  gibbets,  blood  ? 

He  remembers  how  once,  during  the  Streltsy  execution, 
he  rode  on  horseback  to  the  Red  Square,  where  on  that  day 
300  heads  were  doomed  to  fall.  The  Patriarch  met  him 
with  a  wonder-working  icon,  imploring  him  to  pardon  the 
Streltsy.  The  Tsar  bowed  before  the  icon,  but  angrily 
pushed  the  Patriarch  aside,  saying  :  "Why  have  you  come 
here  ?  I  revere  the  Virgin  no  less  than  you  do.  But 
duty  bids  me  pardon  the  just  and  punish  the  criminal.  Go  ! 
don't  detain  me,  old  man,  I  know  what  I  am  doing." 

He  could  answer  the  Patriarch,  but  will  he  be  able  to 
ansM'er  God  ? 

And  he  saw  as  in  a  vision  an  endless  row  of  heads,  which 
lay  on  a  long  beam  for  a  block,  their  faces  to  the  ground, 
fair,  auburn,  black,  grey,  bald  and  curly.  Drunk,  coming 
straight  from  an  orgy  together  with  Danilitch  and  other 
guests,  he  strides  in  with  an  axe,  like  a  headsman,  and 
cuts  off  one  head  after  the  other.  When  he  is  tired  the 
guests  take  the  hatchet  in  turn  from  his  hands  and  and 
also  strike.  Blood  has  intoxicated  them  all.  Their  dress  is 
splashed  with  blood,  blood  covers  the  earth,  their  feet  slip 
on  it.  Suddenly  one  head,  over  which  the  axe  is  already 
lifted,  slowly  rises,  turns  round  and  looks  into  his  eyes. 
It   is   he — little    Alexis  ! 

"  Aliosha,  my  darling  boy!  "  Another  vision  rises  before 
him.  He  had  come  home  from  abroad,  and  at  night  he  had 
stealthily  found  his  way  into  his  boy's  bedroom,  he  bent 
over  the  bed,  took  him  up  in  his  arms,  kissing  the  sleepy 
little  body,  so  soft  and  warm  under  his  nightgown. 

"  Kill  his  son  !  "  only  now  hs  realized  what  it  meant. 
He  felt  it  was  the  most  important,  most  awful  act  of  his 
life  ;  more  important  than  Sophia,  the  Streltsy,  Europe, 
science,  the  army,  the  fleet,  Petersburg  and  Poltava,  in  that 
here  his  judgment  for  all  eternity  would  lie.  In  one  scale 
would  be  placed  whatever  good  and  great  he  had  done  ;  in 
the  other  the  death  of  this  son.  Who  could  tell  which  would 
weigh  the  heavier  ?     W^ould  not  all  his  glory  be  tarnished 

A  A 


370  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

by  this  stain  of  blood  ?  What  would  Europe,  what  would 
posterity,  say  about  an  oathbreaker,  a  murderer  of  his 
own  son  ?  Difficult  it  would  be  for  any  who  may  not 
know  all,  to  discern  his  innocence — and  who  would  know 
all  ? 

Can  a  man  be  justified  before  God  for  shedding  his  son's 
blood,  even  for  the  good  of  his  country  ? 

Which  decision  is  he  to  make  ?  Pardon  his  son,  and 
ruin  Russia  ;  or  kill  his  son  and  ruin  his  own  soul  and  fame  ? 
He  felt  incapable  of  making  any  decision. 

It  was  impossible  to  decide  alone.  But  who  could  help 
him  ?  The  Church  ?  What  ye  shall  bind  on  earth  shall 
be  bound  in  heaven,  and  whatsoever  ye  shall  loose  on  earth 
shall  be  loosed  in  heaven.  That  is  how  it  used  to  be,  but 
now,  where  is  the  Church  ?  The  Patriarch  ?  He  no 
longer  existed.  He  himself  had  abolished  that  office.  Or 
the  Metropolitan,  "  Stephen  the  servitor,"  who  falling  to 
the  ground  himself  petitions  the  Tsar  ?  Or  the  Adminis- 
trator of  Spiritual  affairs,  Theodosius,  the  double-faced  ? 
He  and  the  prelates  are  so  bridled  that  they  will  follow 
any  lead  ;  whatever  he  tells  them  to  do  they  will  do  it.  He 
himself  is  ths  Patriarch,  the  Church.  He  stands  alone 
before  God. 

And  what  did  he  rejoice  at,  insensate,  a  moment  since  ? 
Yes,  God's  hand  is  truly  spread  over  him  and  weighs  heavily 
on  him.  It  is  terrible,  terrible,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
living  God  ! 

An  abyss  yawned  at  his  feet.  Horror  rose  from  it.  His 
hair  stood  on  end. 

He  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  Depart  from  me.  Lord !  deliver  me  from  bloodguiltiness 
O  God,  Thou  God  of  my  salvation!" 

He  rose  and  went  into  his  bedchamber  where  in  the 
corner  over  his  bed  a  lamp  was  ever  burning  before  the 
miraculous  icon  of  Christ.  This  icon  had  been  presented 
to  the  Tsar  Alexis  Michailovitch  by  the  court  painter, 
Oushakoff,  and  had  at  one  time  been  placed  in  the  hall  of 
the  Kremlin  palace.  It  was  a  Russian  replica  of  a  very  old 
Byzantine  picture.  According  to  the  familiar  tradition, 
our  Lord  on  His  way  to  Golgotha,  fainting  under  the  bur- 
den of  the  cross,  had  wiped   the  sweat  off  His  brow  with 


PETER   THE    GREAT  371 

Veronica's  cloth,  and  the  same  had  retained  the  imprint 
of  His  face.     This  was  the  first  icon. 

Ever  since  Peter's  mother,  Tsaritsa  Nataha  Kirilovna, 
had  blessed  her  son  with  this  icon,  he  had  never  parted  from 
it.  On  all  campaigns  and  voyages,  on  ships  and  in  tents, 
at  the  foundation  of  Petersbm'g  and  on  the  field  of  Poltava, 
the  icon  always  accompanied  him. 

On  entering  his  bedchamber  he  added  a  little  oil  to  the 
lamp  and  trimmed  the  wick.  The  flame  glowed  more 
vividly,  and  in  the  gold,  which  surrounded  the  dark  face 
crowned  with  thorns,  the  diamonds  sparkled  like  tears,  the 
rubies  like  drops  of  blood. 

Peter  knelt  and  began  to  pray. 

The  icon  had  grown  so  familiar  to  him  that  he  hardly 
noticed  its  real  character  and  quite  unconsciously  always 
addressed  his  prayers  to  the  Father  and  not  to  the  Son ; 
not  to  the  God  who  dying  shed  His  blood  on  Golgotha,  but 
to  the  living  God,  mighty  and  strong  in  battle,  the  God 
of  armies,  the  just  Giver  of  Victories,  Him  who  spoke  of  Him- 
self through  the  mouth  of  the  prophets  :  "I  have  trodden 
the  people  in  mine  anger,  and  trampled  them  in  my  fury, 
and  their  blood  shall  be  sprinkled  upon  my  garments 
and  I  have  stained  all  my  raiment." 

But  now,  when  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  image  and  wanted 
as  usual  to  address  his  prayers  direct  to  the  Father  past  the 
Son,  he  could  not.  He  seemed  for  the  first  time  to  realise 
the  Sufferer's  face  in  the  crown  of  thorns ;  and  the 
countenance  had  gained  life  and  penetrated  into  his  very 
soul  with  His  meek  look.  He  seemed  for  the  first  time  to 
fathom,  what  he  had  often  heard  in  his  childhood  yet  had 
never  really  grasped:  the  meaning  of  "  the  Father,"  and 
"the  Son."  All  at  once  there  flashed  across  his  mind  an 
ancient  tragic  story,  also  about  a  father  and  a  son. 

"  God  tempted  Abraham  and  said  unto  him  ;  take  thy 
son,  thy  only  son  whom  thou  lovest  and  offer  him  for  a 
burnt-offering.  And  Abraham  built  an  altar  and  bound 
his  son  and  laid  him  on  the  altar,  and  Abraham  stretched 
forth  his  hand  and  took  the  knife  to  slay  his  son." 

This  was  only  a  prototype  on  earth  of  the  yet  more  awful 
heavenly  sacrifice.  God  so  loved  the  world  that  He  did  not 
spare  His  only  begotten  Son.     And  the  Father's  wrath  is 


372  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

appeased  by  the  blood  of  the  Lamb,  the  blood  of  His  Son 
which  is  ever  flowing.  Here  was  some  near  and  all-im- 
portant mystery,  so  terrible  that  he  hardly  dared  to  think 
about  it.     His  thought  grew  faint,  as  in  madness. 

Did  God  want  him,  or  not,  to  slay  his  son  ?  Would  this 
blood  be  forgiven  or  would  it  fall  upon  him  ?  And  what  if 
this  sin  should  be  visited,  not  only  on  him,  but  on  his  chil- 
dren, grandchildren,  great  grandchildren,  all  Russia  ? 

He  fell  on  his  face,  and  remained  a  long  time  prostrate, 
motionless,  as  if  dead. 

At  last  he  lifted  his  eyes  again  to  the  image, but  now  with 
a  desperate,  frenzied  prayer,  straight  to  the  Father. 

"  Let  this  blood  fall  on  me,  me  alone  !  Slay  me,  O  Lord, 
but  spare  Russia!" 


Book  VIII 
THE  WERE-WOLF 

CHAPTER    I 

ALEXIS  had  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  door  through  which 
Peter  was  expected  to  enter. 

The  yellow  February  sun  flooded  the  small  reception  room 
of  the  Preobrazhensky  Palace,  a  house  almost  as  white  and 
plain  as  the  Tsar's  house  in  Petersburg.  The  windows 
opened  on  a  landscape  familiar  to  Alexis  from  earliest 
childhood  ;  a  snow-covered  field  dotted  with  black  crows, 
grey  walls  of  barracks,  prison  buildings,  earth  ramparts 
with  pyramids  of  cannon  balls,  sentry  houses  and  motionless 
sentinels  outlined  against  the  transparent  emerald  sky. 
Sparrows  were  chirping  on  the  window-sill,  just  as  in 
spring  ;  clear  drops  fell  like  tears  from  stalactites  of  ice. 
It  was  nearing  midday,  an  odour  betrayed  the  cooking  of  a 
cabbage  pie.  The  monotonous  ticking  of  a  clock's  pendu- 
lum alone  broke  the  silence. 

The  Tnarevitch  had  been  calm,  almost  gay,  throughout 
the  journey  from  Naples  back  to  Russia :  a  kind  of 
insensibility  seemed  to  have  possessed  him  ;  he  had  been 
unable  to  realize  what  was  happening  to  him,  or  why  and 
whith?r  he  was  being  taken  back. 

Only  now,  sitting  waiting  with  Tolstoi  in  the  reception 
room  and  gazing,  just  as  on  that  nervous  night  in  Naples, 
at  a  fatal  door,  he  seemed  to  awake  and  begin  at  last  to 
understand.  Just  as  then  he  trembled  as  in  a  fever,  now 
crossing  himself  with  muttering  prayers,  now  gripping 
Tolstoi's  hand  : 

"  Peter  Andreitch  !  Peter  Andreitch  !  what  will  hap- 
pen ?     I  confess  I  am  afraid  !  " 


374  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Tolstoi  tried  to  paciiy  him  with  his  velvety  voice 
"  Courage,  your  Highness  !  A  sin  confessed  is  half  forgiven. 
With  God's  help  everything  will  arrange  itself,  slowly, 
gently  and  peacefully " 

The  Tsarevitch  did  not  listen,  he  was  rehearsing  the 
speech  he  had  prepared  : — 

"  Father,  I  can  justify  nothing.  I  only  pray  with  tears 
for  your  gracious  forgiveness  and  fatherly  dispensation. 
I  have  no  other  hope  save  God  and  you  ;  and  I  give  myself 
up  into  your  hands." 

Familiar  steps  approached  the  door.  It  opened.  Peter 
came  in. 

Alexis  jumped  up,  stumbled  and  would  have  fallen  had 
not  Tolstoi  supported  him. 

As  in  the  momentary  metamorphosis  of  a  were-wolf, 
two  faces  flashed  before  Alexis,  a  strange,  terrible  one  like 
a  death-mask,  and  also  the  familiar  one,  his  father's  face  as 
he  remembered  it  in  his  earliest  childhood. 

The  Tsarevitch  came  forward  and  was  going  to  fall  on 
his  knees,  but  Peter  stretched  out  his  arms  to  meet  him  and 
pressed  him  to  his  bosom. 

"  Welcome,  Aliosha,  thank  the  Lord  !  thank  the  Lord  !  we 
have  met  at  last " 

Alexis  felt  the  familiar  touch  of  his  father's  plump,  clean- 
shaven cheek,  the  old  smell  of  strong  tobacco  and  sweaty 
clothes  ;  he  saw  the  large,  dark,  lucid  eyes,  dear  and  yet  so 
terrible  ;  the  winning,  slightly  cunning,  smile  on  the  thin, 
curved,  almost  feminine  lips.  Forgetting  his  long  speech, 
he  only  stammered  out  : — 

"  Forgive  me,  father  !  " 

And  bursting  into  irrepressible  sobs,  he  repeated  again 
and  again  :    "  Forgive,  forgive  !  " 

His  heart  had  melted  suddenly,  like  ice  before  fire. 

"  Aliosha,  quiet,  quiet,  my  boy,  quiet  !  " 

The  father  was  stroking  his  son's  hair,  kissing  his  forehead 
and  eyes  with  the  tenderness  of  a  loving  mother. 

Meanwhile  Tolstoi  witnessing  this  tenderness,  said  to 
himself,  "  The  hawk  will  kiss  the  chicken  till  the  last 
feather  has  gone." 

The  Tsar  made  a  sign  and  he  disappeared. 

Peter   took   his   son   into   the   dining-room.     The   dog 


THE   WERE-WOLF  375 

Lisette  growled  at  first,  but,  recognizing  the  Tsarevitch, 
wagged  her  tail  in  confusion  and  licked  his  hand.  The 
table  was  set  for  two  ;  an  orderly  brought  in  the  dishes 
together  and  left  the  room.  They  remained  alone.  Peter 
poured  out  two  glasses  of  anisette  cordial. 

"  Your  health,  Aliosha  !  " 

They  clinked  glasses.  The  hand  of  the  Tsarevitch 
trembled  so  violently  that  he  upset  half  his  liquor. 

Peter  had  prepared  "  zakouska,"  a  favourite  dish  of  his, 
a  slice  of  black  bread  with  butter,  spread  with  minced  onion 
and  garlic  ;  he  halved  the  piece,  one  part  for  himself,  one 
for  his  son. 

"  You  have  grown  thin  abroad,"  he  said,  looking  at  his 
son,  "  wait  a  bit,  we'll  soon  fill  you  out.  Russian  bread  is 
better  feeding  than  the  German." 

He  pressed  him  to  eat  and  drink  with  many  a  jocular 
saying. 

"  Bumper  on  bumper  is  not  like  blow  on  blow  ! '"  "  All 
good  things  go  in  threes  !  "  "To  multiply  himself  by  four 
makes  the  guest  more  cheerful  than  before !  " 

The  Tsarevitch  ate  little,  but  he  drank  much  and  soon 
became  over-exhilarated,  more  from  joy,  however,  than 
wine. 

He  was  still  timid,  he  had  not  fully  recovered  his  senses, 
he  could  hardly  trust  his  eyes  and  ears.  Yet  his  father's 
talk  was  so  simple  and  good  humoured  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble not  to  hope.  He  inquired  after  everything,  wanted  to 
know  all  about  Italy,  the  fleet,  the  Pope,  and  the  Emperor. 
He  joked  with  him  like  a  comrade. 

"  Your  taste  is  not  bad,  sir,"  he  winked  at  Alexis. 
"  Afrossinia  is  a  strapping — a  superb  wench  ;  were  I  ten 
years  younger  it  might  have  happened  (who  knows  ?)  that 
you'd  have  had  to  beware  of  me.  I  might  have  put 
horns  on  ye  !  It's  evident  the  apple  does  not  fall  far  from 
the  tree  !  The  father  with  a  washerwoman,  the  son  with  a 
charwoman,  for  they  say  Afrossinia  washed  floors  formerly 
at  the  Viasemaski's  house.  Eh,  but  what  of  it  ?  Catenka 
washed  clothes.     Do  you  want  to  get  married  ?  " 

"  If  you  would  permit  it,  father." 

"  What  else  can  I  do  ?  I  promised  you,  and  can't  help 
myself  now," 


376  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Peter  poured  some  red  wine  into  crystal  goblets  ;  they 
raised  and  clinked  them,  the  crystal  rang,  the  wine  glowed 
like  blood  in  the  sunshine. 

"  To  peace  and  eternal  friendship  !  "  said  Peter. 

They  drained  their  glasses  to  the  last  drop. 

Alexis  turned  giddy.  His  spirits  took  wild  wings  ;  his 
heart  now  sank,  now  throbbed,  as  if  it  would  burst  ;  he 
thought  he  would  die  of  joy.  Present,  Past  and  Future — 
all  had  disappeared.  He  remembered,  saw,  felt,  only  one 
thing,  his  father's  love.  It  might  only  be  for  a  moment. 
What  of  it  ?  To  pay  for  the  happiness  of  this  moment,  a 
whole  life  of  torment  would  be  nothing.  He  longed  to 
speak  out  and  confess  everything. 

Peter,  as  if  divining  his  thought,  touched  his  hand  with 
a  gentle  caress. 

"  Tell  me,  Aliosha,  all  about  your  flight." 

The  Tsarevitch  felt  that  the  moment  had  come  which 
would  decide  his  fate,  and  that  suddenly  what  he  had 
tried  to  ignore,  ever  since  he  had  first  resolved  to  return  to 
his  father,  lay  clearly  before  him.  A  choice  was  inevitable  ; 
he  had  either  to  relate  everything  without  restraint,  name 
his  accomplices,  and  betray  his  friends  ;  or  else  deny 
everything,  and  so  doing  allow  the  insurmountable  barrier- 
wall  to  grow  up,  the  bottomless  abyss  between  himself 
and  his  father  to  open  anew. 

He  remained  silent,  his  eyes  cast  down,  afraid  lest  the 
unfamiliar,  terrible  death-mask  face  had  taken  the  place 
of  the  loved  one.  At  last  he  got  up,  approached  his  father 
and  fell  on  his  knees  before  him.  Lisette,  who  had  been 
sleeping  on  a  cushion  at  Peter's  feet,  woke  up,  rose  and 
went  away  leaving  her  place  to  Alexis.  He  sank  down  on 
the  cushion.  Were  it  but  possible  to  remain  for  ever  at 
his  father's  feet,  like  a  dog,  looking  into  his  eyes,  waiting  to 
be  fondled,   petted. 

"  I  will  tell  you  everything,  only  forgive  them  all,  as  you 
have  forgiven  me,"  said  he,  with  a  look  of  intense  adoration. 
His  father  stooped  and  laid  his  hands  on  Alexis'  shoulders 
with  the  same  gentle  tenderness : — 

"  Listen,  Aliosha  \-  How  can  I  forgive  while  ignorant  of 
both  the  innocent  and  the  guilty  ?  I  can  forgive  so  far  as  I 
myself  am  concerned,  but  not  a  crime  against  the  country. 


THE   WERE-WOLF  377 

God  will  ask  me  to  account  for  this.  He  who  tolerates 
evil,  works  evil  himself.  One  thing  I  can  promise,  I  will 
pardon  all  those  you  name,  but  terrible  penalties  will  fall  on 
those  whose  names  you  conceal.  Therefore,  be  not  a 
traitor,  but  the  protector  of  3'our  friends,  conceal  nothing 
from  me,  tell  me  everything.  Don't  be  afraid,  I  will  hurt 
no  one.     We  will  think  it  all  over  between  us." 

Alexis  remained  silent.  Peter  embraced  him,  pressed 
his  head  against  his  breast,  and  added  with  a  heavy  sigh  : — 

"  Aliosha,  Aliosha,  could  you  but  see  my  heart,  know  my 
grief !  It  fares  sadly  with  me  !  I  have  no  one  to  help  me, 
I  am  always  alone.  All  are  enemies,  evildoers,  you  at 
least  have  compassion  on  me.  Be  m}'  friend,  or  do  you 
not  want  to  ?     Do  you  not  love  me  ?  " 

"  I  love  you,  my  dearest  father  !  "  whispered  Alexis 
with  that  same  timid  tenderness,  as  in  his  childhood,  when 
his  father  would  sometimes  secretly  come  at  night  and 
take  his  sleeping  boy  up  in  his  arms.  "  I  will  tell  you  all, 
all,  ask  me  ?  " 

And  he  told  everything  ;    named  everybody. 

Yet  when  he  ended  Peter  was  still  waiting  for  the  main 
point.  He  had  expected  a  plot,  and  found  none  ;  only 
words,  rumours,  gossip,  illusory  suggestions,  on  which  it 
was  impossible  to  base  real  inquiry.  Alexis  took  the  whole 
fault  upon  himself,  and  exonerated  all  the  rest. 

"  When  I  was  drunk  I  used  to  say  all  sorts  of  things  ;  I 
could  not  control  my  tongue  before  others,  I  troubled  them 
by  my  vain  fancies  and  seditious  conversation." 

"  But  apart  from  talk,  there  was  no  thought  for  action," 
for  stirring  up  the  people  to  revolt  ?  Did  they  not  desire 
to  put  you  in  my  place  by  force  ?  " 

"  No,  father,  I  swear  it!  Nothing  of  the  sort  was  ever 
contemplated.     There  were  words  only — words  !  " 

"  Did  your  mother  know  about  the  flight  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  she  did,"  then  after  a  pause  he  added  : 
"  I  can  say  nothing  definite  about  that." 

He  stopped  short  and  cast  down  his  eyes.  He  remem- 
bered the  visions  and  prophecies  of  Bishop  Dositheus  of 
Rostoff  and  other  monks,  prophecies  which  his  mother 
believed  in  and  rejoiced  at ;  the  fall  of  Petersburg,  the 
death  of   Peter,    the   ascendancy   of  Alexis.     Should   he 


378  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

mention  this  too  ?  Betray  his  mother  ?  Mortal  anguish 
gripped  his  heart,  he  felt  he  could  not  speak  about  this. 
Besides,  his  father  did  not  ask  for  it.  What  did  it  matter 
to  him  ?  Could  such  a  man  as  he  be  moved  by  women's 
babble  ? 

"  Is  this  all,  or  have  you  something  else  upon  your 
mind?"  asked  Peter. 

"  I  have,  only  I  know  not  how  to  word  it.     I  am  afraid." 

He  pressed  close  to  his  father,  and  hid  his  face  upon  his 
father's  bosom. 

"  Speak,  it  will  ease  you.  Speak  out  and  clear  your- 
self, as  in  a  confession." 

"  When  you  were  ill,"  Alexis  whispered  into  his  ear, 
"  I  thought  you  would  not  live,  and  I  rejoiced!  I  wished 
you  dead." 

Peter  slowly,  gently  pushed  him  back  and  looked  straight 
into  his  eyes.  He  saw  there  what  he  had  never  seen  before 
in  human  eyes. 

"  Did  you  contemplate  my  death  with  any  one  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  exclaimed  Alexis,  v/ith  such  terror  on 
his  face  and  in  his  voice  that  his  father  believed  him. 

In  silence  they  gazed  at  one  another,  their  look  had  the 
same  expression,  and  these  two  faces,  so  different,  were 
suddenly  alike.  They  reflected  and  fathomed  one  another 
like  two  mirrors. 

Suddenly  the  Tsarevitch  smiled  feebly  and  said  simply, 
but  with  a  voice  so  strange,  so  altered  that  it  seemed  that, 
not  he.  but  some  one  else  was  speaking  through  him  : — 

"  I  know  father,  it  is  perhaps  impossible  for  you  to  for- 
give me.  So  be  it,  have  me  beaten,  killed.  I  would  die 
for  you,  only  love  me  !  .  love  me  always.  Let  no  one 
know  about  this — you  and  I  alone  will  know,  you  and 
I " 

His  father  did  not  answer,  but  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

Alexis  looked  at  him  as  if  expecting  something. 

At  last  Peter  uncovered  his  face,  again  stooped  to  his 
son,  took  his  head  between  his  hands  and  silently  kissed  him. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  Tsarevitch  saw  tears  in  his 
father's  eyes.  Alexis  wanted  to  say  something  more, 
but  Peter  rose  and  hurriedly  left  the  room. 


THE    WERE-WOLF  379 

The  same  day  in  the  evening,  his  new  confessor,  Father 
Varlaam,  came  to  the  Tsarevitch. 

On  his  return  to  Moscow,  Alexis  had  begged  to  have  his 
former  confessor,  Father  James  Ignatief.  He  was  refused, 
and  Father  Varlaam  was  appointed  instead.  He  was 
an  old  man,  "  without  guile,"  "  quite  a  chicken,"  according 
to  Tolstoi's  expression. 

The  Tsarevitch  was  glad,  however,  to  have  even  him ;  he 
longed  for  an  opportunity  of  confessing  as  soon  as  possible. 
He  repeated  in  confession  all  he  had  said  to  his  father.  He 
also  added  what  he  had  held  back  from  him,  as  to  his 
mother,  the  Tsaritsa  Eudoxia,  his  aunt  the  Tsarevna 
Marya,  and  his  uncle,  Abraham  Lopoukhin,  and  their 
united  wish  for  a  "  speedy  fulfilment," — his  father's  death. 

"  You  ought  to  have  spoken  the  whole  truth  to  your 
father,"  remarked  Father  Varlaam,  who  appeared  some- 
what agitated.  Something  strange,  hasty  and  mysterious 
seemed  to  have  passed  between  them,  j^et  so  instantaneously 
that  Alexis  could  not  say  whether  it  was  real  or  only  a 
fancy. 


CHAPTER    II 

ON  the  morning  of  Monday,  February  3,  1718,  two 
days  after  Peter's  first  interview  witfi  Alexis,  a 
meeting  was  summoned  of  all  the  ministers,  generals,  pre- 
lates and  other  civil  and  clerical  officials  in  the  Audience 
Hall  of  the  old  Kremlin  Palace.  The  assembly  was  con- 
voked to  hear  the  manifesto,  declaring  the  abdication  of 
the  throne  by  the  Tsarevitch,  and  to  take  the  oath  of 
allegiance  to  the  new  heir,  Peter  Petrovitch. 

Battalions  of  the  Preobrazhensky  Guard  were  stationed 
within  the  walls  of  the  Kremlin,  in  all  the  squares,  palace 
galleries  and  staircases.     A  rising  was  feared. 

In  the  Audience  Hall  nothing  of  the  old  decoration  had 
been  retained  save  the  frescoes  on  the  ceiling,  which  repre- 
sented the  course  of  the  stars,  the  twelve  months  of  the 
year,  and  other  heavenly  phenomena. 

All  the  rest  were  new:  Dutch  tapestries,  crystal  chandeliers, 
straight-backed  chairs,  narrow  pier  glasses  between  the  win- 
dows. In  the  centre  of  the  hall,  under  a  red  silk  canopy, 
on  a  raised  platform,  reached  by  three  steps,  stood  the 
throne,  a  gilt  arm-chair  with  a  golden  double-headed 
eagle,  and  the  keys  of  St.  Peter  embroidered  on  the  crimson 
velvet. 

Slanting  rays  of  pale  sunshine  fell  through  the  windows 
upon  the  white  wigs  of  the  senators  and  the  black  hoods 
of  the  prelates.  The  faces  of  all  present  expressed  fear 
and  that  eager  curiosity  which  is  seen  in  a  crowd  at  execu- 
tions.    The  drum  rolled. 

A  movement  passed  through  the  crowd,  it  separated, 
the  Tsar  entered  and  took  his  seat  on  the  throne. 

Two  huge  Preobrazhensky  guards,  with  drawn  swords, 
led  in  Alexis,  like  a  prisoner. 

Without  wig  or  sword,  dressed  in  a  plain  black  suit,  pale, 


THE   WERE-WOLF  381 

yet  calm  and  meditative,  he  walked  slowly,  his  head  bent 
low.  When  near  the  throne  and  he  saw  his  father,  a  gentle 
smile,  which  recalled  his  grandfather,  the  gentle  Tsar 
Alexis,  lit  up  his  face. 

Tall,  narrow  across  the  shoulders,  with  a  thin  visage 
surrounded  by  scanty  tufts  of  straight  smooth  hair,  suggest- 
ing now  a  village  deacon,  now  the  image  of  Saint  Alexis, 
amid  all  these  new  Petersburg  faces  he  seemed  a  being 
apart,  a  stranger  as  it  were  from  another  world,  a  phantom 
of  ancient  Muscovy.  On  many  a  face  pity  for  this  phantom 
mingled  with  curiosity  and  fear. 

He  stopped  near  the  throne,  not  knowing  what  to  do  next. 

"  Kneel  !  kneel  !  and  speak  what  you  have  prepared  !  " 
Tolstoi  whispered  to  him  from  behind. 

The  Tsarevitch  knelt  and  began  in  a  loud  calm  voice  : — 

"  Most  gracious  Sovereign  and  Father  !  On  recognising 
my  transgression  towards  you,  as  my  parent  and  sove- 
reign, I  wrote  a  penitent  letter  and  sent  it  to  you  from 
Naples  ;  to-day  I  repeat  and  declare  that,  forgetful  of  my 
duties  as  a  son  and  subject,  I  deserted  Russia  and  put 
myself  under  the  Emperor's  protection,  entreating  him  to 
defend  me.  For  which  transgression  I  beseech  ^  our  gracious 
pardon  and  forgiveness." 

After  this  he  bowed  low  before  his  father,  not  according 
to  ceremonial,  but  prompted  solely  by  his  heart. 

On  a  sign  from  the  Tsar,  the  Vice-Chancellor  vShafiroff 
began  reading  the  manifesto,  which  the  same  day  would 
be  read,  by  order,  to  the  people  in  the  Red  Square. 

"  We  trust  that  it  is  known  to  the  greater  number  of  our 
faithful  subjects  how  assiduously  and  carefully  we  have 
striven  to  bring  up  our  first-born  son,  Alexis.  But  all  our 
efforts  were  in  vain,  the  seed  fell  on  stony  soil  ;  our  son  did 
not  only  not  profit  by  it,  but  hated  study,  and  has  shown  no 
inclination  whatever  for  military  and  civil  affairs.  He  has 
preferred  intercourse  with  worthless,  vile  people  of  coarse 
habits." 

Alexis  hardly  listened.  He  was  trying  to  meet  his 
father's  eye.  But  the  latter  gazed  past  him  with  a  motion- 
less, impenetrable  look.  "  Feint,  dissimulation  !  "  Alexis 
assured  himself ;  "  revile  me,  beat  me,  if  you  will,  I  still  know 
you  love  me  !  " 


382  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Shafiroff  continued :  "  And,  seeing  his  obstinacy  in 
wrongdoing,  we  declared  unto  him  that,  should  he  not  act 
according  to  our  will  in  future,  we  would  disinherit  him. 
And  we  granted  him  time  to  amend  his  ways.  But  he, 
forgetful  of  all  responsibility,  and  of  God's  law,  which 
commands  obedience  to  parents  generally,  and  much  more 
to  a  father  who  is  a  sovereign,  repaid  our  manifold  parental 
cares  with  unheard-of  ingratitude.  When,  having  left  him 
in  Petersburg  on  our  departure  for  the  campaign  in  Den- 
mark, we  wrote  him  thence  summoning  him  to  Copenhagen, 
to  take  part  in  the  action  and  thus  increase  his  military 
knowledge,  he,  our  son,  instead  of  joining  us,  furnished 
himself  with  a  good  supply  of  money,  took  a  certain  woman 
with  whom  he  lived  unlawfully,  deserted  and  went  to  put 
himself  under  the  protection  of  the  F,m{)eror.  Having 
declared  many  untrue  calumnies  against  his  father  and  his 
sovereign,  he  entreated  the  Emperor,  not  only  to  hide  him, 
but  also  to  defend  him  with  armed  force  against  us,  his 
enemy  and  torturer,  from  whose  hands  he  expected  to  suffer 
death.  To  what  shame  and  dishonour  before  the  world 
he  brought  our  country  by  this  his  action,  is  evident !  It 
is  difficult  to  find  a  precedent  for  it  in  history  !  Yet, 
though  he,  our  son,  has  by  all  these  misdoings  earned 
death,  we  pity  him  with  our  fatherly  heart,  forgive  and 
free  him  of  all  punishment.     But " 

Here  a  strange  hollow,  husky,  terrible  voice  interrupted  the 
reading.  It  was  the  voice  of  Peter,  so  full  of  anger  and 
grief  that  all  formality  seemed  to  vanish,  and  every  one 
suddenly  realized  the  horror  of  the  situation. 

"  I  cannot  have  an  heir  who  would  waste  all  that  his 
father,  with  God's  help  had  gained,  and  would  overthrow 
the  glory  and  honour  of  the  Russian  people.  I  should  fear 
to  meet  my  God  if  I  entrusted  the  Government  to  one  I 
knew  to  be  unfit  for  it.     And  you " 

He  looked  at  his  son,  and  Alexis'  heart  sank,  he  felt  there 
was  no  dissembling. 

"  And  you  remember  this  :  though  I  have  pardoned 
you,  yet  if  you  have  made  a  single  omission  or  reservation 
which  comes  out  later,  do  not  reproach  me,  it  will  cost  you 
your  pardon.     You  shall  suffer  death " 


THE   WERE-WOLF  383 

Alexis,  leant  forward,  his  hands  raised  in  eager 
protest ;  he  wanted  to  speak,  to  cry  out  to  his  father, 
but  Peter  looked  past  him  with  his  motionless,  impene- 
trable look.  At  a  sign  from  the  Tsar,  Shafiroff  continued 
reading  : — 

"  Thus  in  our  anxiety  for  our  country  and  subjects  we 
herewith  by  reason  of  our  power  as  father  and  absolute 
sovereign,  take  from  our  son  Alexis,  for  his  sins  and  mis- 
doings, the  right  to  succeed  to  the  Russian  throne,  even 
though  no  one  of  our  family  should  survive  him.  And  we 
herewith  appoint  and  declare  our  son  Peter,  though  yet  a 
child,  heir  to  the  throne,  seeing  we  have  no  other  grown- 
up heir.  And  we  conjure  our  son  Alexis  never  to  lay  any  claim 
to  the  succession.  We  desire  all  our  faithful  subjects  and 
the  whole  Russian  people  after  this  our  wish  and  declaration 
to  consider  our  son  Peter  appointed  by  us  as  the  legitimate 
heir,  and  to  revere  him  as  such,  and  to  ratify  this  by  oath 
in  the  sanctuary  upon  the  holy  Gospels,  kissing  the  cross. 
All  those  who  from  this  day  forth  contrary  to  our  desire 
shall  persist  in  considering  our  son  Alexis  heir  to  the  throne, 
and  help  him  with  this  intent,  we  herewith  declare  traitors 
to  us  and  to  the  country." 

The  Tsar  rose  and  ordered  all  those  present  to  go  to  the 
Church  of  the  Assumption,  where  the  oath  of  allegiance  was 
to  be  taken. 

When  all  except  Tolstoi,  Shafiroff  and  a  few  other  of  the 
highest  dignitaries  had  retired  from  the  hall,  Peter  said  to 
his  son  : — 

"  Follow  me  !  " 

Together  they  crossed  the  vestibule  into  "  the  Secret 
Chamber  of  Replies  "whence  the  ancient  Tsars  of  Muscovy, 
concealed  behind  silk  curtains,  listened  to  the  conferences 
of  ambassadors  in  the  adjoining  hall.  It  was  a  small 
room,  with  bare  walls  and  a  mica  window  which  always  let 
in  yellow-amber  twilight.  In  the  other  corner  before  the 
Saviour's  icon,  a  dark,  meek,  sorrowful  face  in  a  crown  of 
thorns,  a  holy  lamp  was  always  kept  burning.  Peter  shut 
the  door  and  came  up  to  his  son. 

As  on  that  terrible  day  at  Naples  in  his  delirium,  and  a 
few  days  since  in  Preobrazhensky,  the  Tsarevitch  shivered 
and  trembled.     But  he  hoped  still ;  surely  his  father  would 


384  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

presently  embrace  him,  say  that  he  still  loved  him,  and  all 
these  terrors  would  vanish  for  ever. 

"  I  know  you  love  me,"  he  kept  repeating  under  his 
breath  to  himself,  like  some  formula  of  faith.  Nevertheless 
his  heart  beat  with  dread. 

He  drapped  his  eyes  and  dared  not  lift  them,  feeling  his 
father's  heavy  steadfast  glance  upon  him.  Both  remained 
silent.     All  was  hushed  around  them. 

"  Did  you  hear,"  Peter  said  at  last,  "  what  has  just  been 
declared  before  the  people  ?  one  concealment  will  cost  you 
your  life." 

"  I  heard  it,  father." 

"  And  have  you  nothing  to  add  to  what  you  declared 
the  day  before  yesterday  ?  " 

Alexis  remembered  his  mother,  and  again  he  felt  he 
could  not  betray  her,  even  though  it  meant  instant  death. 
"  Nothing,"  said  he  ;  as  though  some  one  else,  not  himself, 
had  spoken. 

"  Are  you  sure  there  is  nothing  ?  "  repeated  Peter. 

Alexis  remained  silent. 

"  Speak ! " 

Alexis  grew  dizzy,  his  feet  hardly  supported  him.  Yet 
again  somebody  seemed  to  answer  for  him. 

"  Nothing." 

"  You  lie,"  cried  Peter,  seizing  him  by  the  shoulders  so 
violently  that  it  seemed  his  bones  would  be  broken.  "  You 
lie.  You  have  concealed  all  about  your  mother,  your 
aunt,  your  uncle  Dositheus  of  Rostoff,  and  their  whole  cursed 
brood,  the  root  of  all  this  wicked  rebellion." 

"  Who  told  you,  father  ?  "  stammered  Alexis,  looking  at 
him  for  the  first  time. 

"  Is  it  not  true  ?  "     His  father  looked  straight  at  him. 

His  hand  grew  heavier  and  heavier.  The  Tsarevitch 
tottered  like  a  reed  under  the  weight,  and  sank  at  his 
father's  feet. 

"  Forgive,  forgive  ! She  is  my  mother  :  she  bore  me  !  " 

Peter  bent  over  him,  raised  his  fist  above  his  son's  head 
and  swore.  Ale.xis  stretched  out  his  hands  as  it  to  ward  off 
a  mortal  blow. 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  saw  bending  over  him  again,  as  in 
the  momentary  metamorphosis  of  a  wcrc-wolf,  transformed 


THE    WERE-WOLF  385 

again  ;  only  now  instead  of  the  familiar  loved  one,  the  other 
strange  terrifying  face,  like  a  death-mask,  the  face  of.  the 
beast,  remained  before  him. 

He  gave  a  faint  cry  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Peter  turned  round  to  go  out.  But  Alexis,  hearing  his 
father  move  towards  the  door,  hurried  after  him  on  his 
knees,  like  a  dog,  which,  though  beaten,  still  begs  for 
pardon.  He  clung  to  his  feet,  embraced  and  held  on  to 
them. 

"  Don't  go  away,  don't — rather  kill  me." 

Peter  tried  to  push  him  away  and  free  himself.  But 
Alexis  held  on,  clinging  tighter  and  tighter. 

The  touch  of  these  hands,  which  convulsively  gripped 
and  held  him  back,  sent  an  icy,  cold  shudder  of  disgust 
through  Peter,  such  as  he  felt  towards  spiders,  cockroaches, 
and  other  creeping  vermin. 

"  Away,  away,  away,  or  else  I'll  kill  you !  "  he  cried  in 
fury,  mingled  with  terror. 

At  last  with  a  desperate  effort  he  shook  him  off,  spurning 
Alexis  on  the  face  with  his  foot.  The  Tsarevitch  with  a 
hollow  groan  fell  to  the  ground,  like  one  dead.  Peter  ran 
out  of  the  room,  as  if  escaping  from  some  monster. 

When  he  passed  the  dignitaries  who  were  awaiting  him  in 
the  hall,  they  saw  in  his  face  that  something  terrible  had 
happened. 

He  called  to  them  shortly  :  "  To  the  Church !  "  And  he 
went   out. 

Some  followed  after  him  ;  others.  Tolstoi  and  Shafiroff 
among  them,  hurried  to  the  Secret  Chamber  of  Replies. 

The  Tsarevitch  continued  to  lie  with  his  lace  to  the  ground, 
as  lifeless.  They  began  to  lift  him,  trying  to  bring  him 
back  to  consciousness.  His  joints  would  not  straighten 
out  ;  contracted  by  convulsions  they  had  become  rigid. 
Yet  it  was  not  a  swoon.  His  breathing  was  rapid,  his  eyes 
open. 

At  last  they  succeeded  in  putting  him  on  his  feet.  They 
wanted  to  lead  him  into  the  adjacent  room  and  lay  him  on 
a  bench.  He  looked  around  him  with  a  troubled,  blank 
gaze  and  murmured,  trjang  to  recall  what  had  happened, 
"  What  is  it,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  Tolstoi  said  to  calm  him,   "  you 

BB 


386  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

swooned,  fell,  and  probably  hurt  yourself  ;  it  will  soon  pass. 
Here  is  some  water,  drink  it,  and  the  doctor  will  be  here 
presently." 

"  What  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  "  Alexis  repeated  mechani- 
cally. 

"  Had  we  not  better  inform  the  Tsar  ?  "  whispered 
Tolstoi  to  Shafiroff. 

The  Tsarevitch  heard  him  ;  he  turned  round,  and  his 
pale  face  suddenly  grew  livid.  A  fit  of  trembling  seized  him, 
and  he  started  tearing  the  collar  of  his  shirt  as  though  he 
were  choking,  while  he  began  to  cry  and  laugh  so  wildly 
that  all  were  frightened. 

"  What  Tsar  ?  Fools,  fools,  don't  you  see  anything  ? 
That  is  not  he,  that  is  neither  the  Tsar  nor  my  father.  He 
is  a  drummer,  an  accursed  Jew,  an  impostor,  a  pretender. 
Gregory  Otriopieff — a  were- wolf !  Ram  a  pike  down  his 
throat  and  that  will  finish  him  !  " 

The  Court  Physician,  Areskin,  hurried  into  the  room. 
Tolstoi,  unseen  by  the  Tsarevitch,  pointed  to  him,  then 
touched  his  own  forehead,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  The  Tsare- 
vitch is  going  out  of  his  mind." 

Areskin  placed  Alexis  in  an  arm-chair,  felt  his  pulse,  made 
him  smell  ether,  take  some  soothing  medicine,  and  was  just 
going  to  bleed  him,  when  in  came  a  messenger  who  stated 
that  the  Tsar  was  waiting  in  the  Church  and  desired  the 
Tsarevitch  to  come  at  once. 

"  Go  and  say  that  his  Highness  is  ill,"  began  Tolstoi. 

"  There  is  no  need,"  interrupted  Alexis,  awaking  as  from 
a  deep  slumber.  "  No  need.  I  will  go  presently.  Only 
give  me  a  moment's  rest  and  a  little  wine." 

They  handed  him  some  Tokay.  He  drank  it  eagerly, 
Areskin  put  a  towel  on  his  head  soaked  with  vinegar  and 
cold  water.  They  left  him  alone  and  went  aside,  conferring 
on  what  had  better  be  done. 

After  a  few  minutes  he  said  : — 

"  I  feel  better.     Let  us  go." 

They  helped  him  to  get  up,  and  supported  him  as  he 
walked. 

The  fresh  air  re\'ived  him  while  crossing  from  the  palace 
to  the  Church  ;  but  when  passing  through  the  crowd 
everybody  noticed  his  pallor. 


THE    WERE-WOLF  387 

On  the  platform  in  front  of  the  open  gates  of  the  icon- 
ostasis,  which  permitted  a  view  of  the  altar,  Fedor  Prokopo- 
vitch,  the  newly  appointed  Bishop  of  Pskoff,  fully  robed, 
was  awaiting  Alexis  with  Crucifix  and  Gospels.  The  Tsar 
stood  beside  him. 

Alexis  went  up  to  the  platform,  took  from  Shafiroff  a 
sheet  of  paper  and  began  to  read  in  a  weak,  scarcely  audible 
voice,  but  the  crowd  was  so  hushed  that  every  word  was 
clearly  heard. 

"  I,  the  undersigned,  promise  on  the  holy  Gospels,  that  I, 
having  forfeited  my  inheritance  of  the  Russian  throne  on 
account  of  my  sins  against  my  father  and  sovereign, 
therefore  acknowledge  it  to  be  just,  and  swear  by  the 
Almighty  and  Triune  God  and  His  judgment  to  submit  to 
this  my  father's  will  without  fail,  and  never  to  seek  the 
succession,  nor  accept  it  under  any  pretext  whatever.  I 
acknowledge  my  brother  Peter  to  be  the  legitimate  heir. 
Upon  which  I  kiss  the  Holy  Cross  and  sign  with  mine  own 
hand." 

He  kissed  the  cross  and  signed  the  abdication. 

At  the  same  time  the  manifesto  was  being  read  to  all  the 
people. 


CHAPTER    III 

PETER  sent  an  "  Interrogatory  "  to  Alexis  by  Tolstoi 
The  Tsarevitch  was  expected  to  answer  in  writing. 
Tolstoi  advised  him  to  conceal  nothing,  as  the  Tsar  appar- 
ently knew  ev^erything,  and  required  from  his  son  only  the 
confirmation. 

"  Who  told  my  father  ?  "  asked  Alexis. 

Tolstoi  at  first  would  not  reply.  Finally,  he  read  to 
him  a  decree,  unpublished  as  yet,  but  proclaimed  later  on 
at  the  establishment  of  the  Ecclesiastical  College,  the  Holy 
Synod  : — 

"  If  an}'  one  confesses  to  his  priest  a  wicked  and  unre- 
pented  design  against  the  honour  and  welfare  of  the  Tsar, 
or  worse  still,  treason  or  revolt,  the  confessor  is  obliged  to 
report  the  same  at  once  to  the  secret  Chancery.  This 
declaration  does  not  violate  the  confession,  and  the  con- 
fessor does  not  break  the  laws  of  the  Gospel,  but  conforms  to 
Christ's  teaching  :  '  Tell  thy  brother  his  fault,  and  if  he  will 
not  hear  thee,  tell  it  unto  the  Church.'  If  our  Lord  ordains 
the  offence  of  a  brother  to  be  thus  divulged,  how  much 
more  does  the  rule  apply  to  a  mischievous  plot  against  the 
Tsar  ?  " 

Having  listened  to  the  ukase,  the  Tsarevitch  left  the  table 
— he  had  been  supping  alone  with  Tolstoi — and  as  before, 
during  the  fit  in  the  Secret  Chamber,  his  pale  face  suddenly 
grew  flushed.  He  cast  a  look  at  Tolstoi  which  alarmed 
the  latter  and  made  him  fear  another  attack.  But  it 
passed  off  this  time.  The  Tsarevitch  grew  calm  and  fell 
into  a  reverie. 

For  several  days  he  remained  in  this  pensive  mood. 
When  people  talked  to  him  he  looked  vacantly  at  them, 
without  appearing  to  understand.  He  had  grown  still 
thinner  ;    "  he  hardly  seemed  alive,"  as  Tolstoi  said. 

Nevertheless,  he  wrote  precise  answers  to  the  questions, 

388 


THE   WERE-WOLF  389 

and  confirmed  all  he  had  said  in  confession,  though  he  felt 
that  it  was  useless,  and  that  his  father  would  believe  no- 
thing. 

Alexis  saw  that  Father  Varlaam  had  broken  the  secrecy 
of  the  confession.  The  words  of  St.  Demetrius  of  Rostoff 
came  to  his  mind. 

"  Should  any  sovereign  or  civil  tribunal  order,  under 
threats  of  death  and  torture,  the  priest  to  reveal  the  sin  of 
his  penitent,  the  priest  ought  rather  to  die  a  martyr  than 
break  the  seal  of  confession." 

He  also  remembered  the  words  of  an  old  Raskolnik  with 
whom  he  once  had  talked  in  the  depths  of  the  thick  forests 
near  Novgorod,  where,  by  his  father's  order,  he  was  felling 
pines. 

"  God's  blessing  rests  no  longer  on  the  churches,  priests, 
sacraments,  readings,  hymns,  icons  nor  on  any  other  thing — 
it  has  all  been  taken  back  to  heaven.  He  who  fears  God 
does  not  go  to  church.  Do  you  know  what  your  sacrificial 
lamb  is  like  ?  Mark  my  words  :  it  is  like  a  dead  dog  thrown 
into  the  streets  of  the  city.  He  who  partakes  of  the 
communion  dies,  poor  wretch.  Your  Host  is  as  deadly  as 
arsenic  or  corrosive  sublimate ;  it  instantly  penetrates  to 
the  very  bone  and  marrow,  to  the  very  soul,  after  which, 
rest  in  the  flames  of  hell,  and  moan  there  like  Cain,  the  lost 
one." 

These  words,  meaningless  enough  at  the  time,  now 
acquired  extraordinary  meaning.  What  if  it  were  true 
that  the  abomination  of  desolation  had  come  into  the  holy 
place,  that  the  Church  had  forsaken  Christ  and  that  Anti- 
christ were  now  reigning  ? 

But  who  was  Antichrist  ?     Here  the  delirium  began. 

His  father's  image  seemed  double  ;  as  in  a  momentary 
metamorphosis  of  a  were-wolf  the  Tsarevitch  saw  two 
faces — the  kind,  beloved  face  of  his  father,  and  the  strange, 
terrible,  mask-face — the  face  of  the  Beast.  Yet  the  thing 
most  terrifying  was  that  he  could  not  definitely  say  which 
of  the  two  was  the  real  face.  Does  his  father  change  into 
the  Beast  ?  or  the  Beast  into  his  father  ?  Such  horror 
seized  him  that  he  feared  madness. 

Meanwhile  the  trial  had  begun  in  the  torture  chambers  at 
Preobrazhensky  Palace, 


390  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

On  the  4th  of  February,  the  day  after  the  reading  of  the 
manifesto,  orders  were  sent  to  Petersburg  and  Sousdal  that 
all  those  whom  the  Tsarevitch  had  named  should  be 
brought  at  once  to  Moscow. 

Alexander  Kikin,  Ivan  Afanasieff,  Alexis'  valet,  his 
teacher,  Viazemski,  and  many  others  were  arrested  in 
Petersburg. 

On  the  journey  to  Moscow,  Kikin  tried  to  strangle  him- 
self with  his  chains,  but  was  prevented.  The  inquiry 
wrung  from  him  the  name  of  Prince  Basil  Dolgorouki,  as 
being  Alexis'  chief  adviser. 

"  I  was  fetched  from  Petersburg  without  a  word  of 
warning,"  related  Prince  Basil  afterwards,  "  and  brought 
in  iron  fetters  to  Moscow  ;  this  caused  me  great  despair. 
I  was  taken  to  Preobrazhensky,  given  into  strict  custody, 
and  then  brought  before  his  Majesty  ;  I  was  in  great  fear, 
realizing  that  the  words  written  by  the  Tsarevitch  about 
me  implied  in  the  eyes  of  the  Tsar  that  I  had  committed  a 
great  crime." 

His  relative,  Prince  James,  interceded  on  his  behalf. 

"  Be  merciful,  Sovereign,"  he  wrote  to  the  Tsar.  "  Do 
not  let  our  old  age  be  dishonoured,  do  not  let  us  go  down  to 
the  grave  with  the  name  of  malefactors,  which  not  only 
stains  our  glory  but  also  destroys  our  life.  Therefore, 
again  I  implore  mercy  !  mercy  !  O  most  merciful  Sove- 
reign !  " 

But  a  shadow  of  suspicion  fell  on  Prince  James  himself. 
Kikin  revealed  that  James  Dolgorouki  had  advised  Alexis 
not  to  join  his  father  at  Copenhagen.  Peter  did  not  touch 
the  old  man,  yet  so  severe  was  his  threat  that  Prince  James 
thought  it  necessary  to  remind  the  Tsar  of  his  former 
faithful  services,  "  for  which  now  I  hear  impalement  will  be 
my  reward,"  he  concluded  bitterly. 

Again  Peter  felt  his  terrible  loneliness.  If  even  "  the 
righteous  "  Prince  James  was  a  traitor,  whom  could  he 
trust  ?  Captain  Gregory  Skorniakoff  Pissaref^  brought 
from  Sousdal  the  ex-Tsarina  Eudoxia — now  "  Sister  Helen," 
She  wrote  to  the  Tsar  on  her  way. 

"  Most  merciful  Sovereign, — 
Many   years   ago,  I  do    not   exactly    remember  when. 


THE   WERE-WOLF  391 

according  to  my  promise  I  took  the  veil  at  the  Sousdal 
nunnery,  under  the  name  of  Sister  Helen.  After  taking 
the  veil  I  wore  the  habit  for  six  months,  but  no  longer 
wishing  to  remain  a  nun  I  gave  up  the  sisterhood,  left  off 
the  habit,  and  lived  concealed  at  the  monastery  under  the 
guise  of  a  nun,  but  was  really  a  woman  of  the  world.  My 
secret  was  detected  by  Gregory  Pissareff.  I  now  trust  to 
your  Majesty's  humanity  and  pity.  At  your  feet  I  seek 
mercy  and  crave  pardon  and  forgiveness  for  my  misdeeds, 
that  I  be  not  put  to  death  like  a  criminal.  I  promise  to 
resume  the  habit  and  remain  in  the  nunnery  until  my  death. 
I  will  pray  for  you,  Sire, 

"  Your  Majesty's  lowliest  servant, 

"  Your  former  wife,  Eudoxia." 

The  woman  treasurer  of  the  convent  reported  : — 
"  We  dared  not  ask  theTsaritsa, '  Why  have  you  cast  off 
the  nun's  garb  ?  '  She  said  several  times,  '  The  Tsar  has 
taken  everything  that  belonged  to  us.  You  know  how  the 
Tsar  avenged  himself  on  the  Strelsi  on  account  of  his 
mother  ;  now  my  own  son  is  no  longer  a  child  ! '  When 
Major  Stephen  Gleboff  was  on  recruiting  duty  at  Sousdal 
the  Tsaritsa  admitted  him  to  her  cell.  They  used  to  talk 
together  while  I  was  sent  off  to  cut  out  garments,  or  they 
begged  me  to  chant  the  Te  Deum.  When  Gleboff  showed 
himself  insolent,!  used  to  say  to  him  :  '  Who  are  you,  to  make 
so  bold  ?  Things  are  known.'  The  Tsaritsa  got  angry  with 
me  for  that, '  Who  in  the  devil's  name  asked  you  to  meddle  ? 
You  also  are  now  a  spy.'  And  others  said  to  me,  '  Why 
have  you  angered  the  Tsaritsa  ?  '  Stephen  visited  her  by 
night.  A  porter  and  the  dwarf  Agatha  used  to  tell  me, 
'Gleboff  passes  us,  but  we  dare  not  budge.' 

"  The  nun  Kaptelina  confessed  that  Gleboff  frequently 
visited  the  Tsaritsa  (Sister  Helen)  and  kissed  her.  I  used 
to  leave  the  room.     I  carried  Gleboff's  love  letters." 

Gleboff's  statement  was  short. 

"  I  fell  in  love  with  the  ex-Tsaritsa  and  we  lived  in  sin 
together." 

For  the  rest  Gleboff  steadily  denied  everything.  They 
tortured  him  frightfully  ;  he  was  flogged,  burnt,  frozen,  his 
ribs  were  broken,  his  body  torn  with  pincers.     He  was 


392  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

forced  to  sit  on  a  board  studded  with  nails,  walk  along 
wooden  spikes  till  his  feet  festered.  He  withstood  all  pains 
and  neither  denounced  anyone,  nor  admitted  anything  more. 

The  ex-Tsaritsa  made  the  following  deposition  : 

"  On  February  21,  I,  the  nun  Helen,  have  been  brought 
to  the  General  Court  and  have  been  confronted  with  Stephen 
Gleboff.  I  declare  that  I  am  guilty  of  having  lived  in 
adultery  with  him.     Written  by  mine  own  hand,  Helen." 

This  confession  Peter  intended  to  publish  later  in  a 
manifesto. 

The  Tsaritsa  further  confessed  : — 

"  I  cast  off  the  nun's  garb  because  the  Bishop  Dositheus 
prophesied,  he  spoke  of  voices  coming  from  icons  and  of 
many  visions,  that  God's  wrath  would  come  upon  us,  and 
trouble  spread  among  the  people  ;  how  the  Tsar  would  soon 
die,  and  that  I,  the  Tsaritsa,  would  reign  henceforth  with 
my  son." 

Dositheus  was  arrested,  and  degraded  in  the  council  from 
his  office  of  Bishop ;  he  was  named  "  Demid  the  unfrocked." 

"  I  alone  have  been  punished,"  Dositheus  addressed  the 
council,  "  look  and  see  what  is  in  all  hearts  ;  carry  your  ears 
into  the  midst  of  the  people,  hear  what  is  said." 

He  was  impaled  and  questioned  in  the  torture  chamber. 

"  Why  did  you  desire  his  Majesty's  death  ?  " 

"  I  wished  for  it  in  order  that  Tsarevitch  Alexis  might 
come  to  the  throne  ;  that  people  might  breathe  more  freely, 
and  that  Petersburg  might  disappear,"  answered  Demid. 

He  denounced  the  Tsaritsa's  brother,  Abraham  Lopou- 
khin  :  the  latter  was  also  arrested  and  tortured  at  the 
same  time  with  Demid.  Lopoukhin  received  fifteen,  Demid 
nineteen  blows  with  the  knout  ;  both  confessed  that  they 
wished  for  the  Tsar's  death  and  the  accession  of  Alexis. 
Demid  also  denounced  Tsarevna  Marya,  the  Tsar's  sister. 

"The  Tsarevna  was  wont  to  say, '  After  the  Tsar's  death 
I  will  gladly  help  the  Tsarevitch  with  all  my  strength  to 
serve  the  people,  and  govern  the  country.'  She  too  it  was 
who  said,  '  How  can  you  bishops  tolerate  the  Tsar's  having 
married  again  during  the  lifetime  of  his  first  wife  :  he  ought 
to  take  back  the  former  Tsaritsa  and  live  with  her,  or  else 
he  ought  to  die  !  '  When  he,  Demid,  came  to  see  her  after 
having  sworn  his  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  young  Peter  in 


THE    WERE-WOLF  393 

the  Church,  she  said  to  him,  '  It  is  wrong  of  the  Tsar  to  put 
aside  his  eldest  son  and  carry  everything  ovei  to  his  youngest 
son,  who  is  only  two  years  old,  while  the  other  is  a  grown 
man. '  " 

The  Tsarevna  denied  these  things,  but  they  confronted 
her  in  the  question  chamber  with  Demid  ;  there  she  con- 
fessed all. 

The  inquiry  lasted  more  than  a  month.  Peter  was  almost 
always  present  at  the  interrogation,  watched  the  exe- 
cutioners, at  times  even  himself  helped  in  the  work.  But 
in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  he  did  not  find  whit  he  sought,  the 
real  thing,  "  the  root  of  the  revolt."  In  the  statements 
of  the  Tsarevitch  and  in  those  of  all  the  other  witnesses 
there  was  nothing  but  words,  tales,  gossipings,  the  ravings 
of  madmen  and  fools,  the  grumblings  of  old  idiots  in  the 
corners  of  convents.  Sometimes  he  felt  that  after  all  he 
would  have  done  better  to  have  passed  it  over  contemptu- 
ously, and  pardon  every  one.  But  he  could  not  stay  things 
now,  and  he  foresaw  that  he  would  be  brought  to  the  murder 
of  his  son. 

During  all  this  time  the  Tsarevitch  was  strictly  guarded 
in  the  Palace  of  Preobrazhensky  not  far  from  the  General 
Courts  and  the  prisons.  Day  and  night  he  heard,  or  thought 
he  heard,  the  cries  of  the  tortured,  He  was  constantly 
being  confronted  with  some  prisoner.  More  horrible  than 
all  was  the  meeting  with  his  mother.  The  Tsarevitch  had 
heard  that  the  Tsar  had  flogged  her  with  his  own  hands. 

Nearly  every  evening  Alexis  was  stupefied  with  drink. 
The  Court  doctor  Areskin  told  him  he  would  end  in  delirium 
tremens.  But  when  he  stopped  drinking  he  fell  into 
such  a  melancholy  that  he  hastened  to  drown  his  senses 
afresh.  Areskin  warned  the  Tsar  of  the  danger  Alexis 
ran.     Peter  replied. 

"  Let  him  perish,  it's  the  best  thing  he  can  do  !  A  dog 
should  have  a  dog's  death  !  " 

Besides,  of  late  brandy  no  longer  brought  forgetfulness 
to  the  Tsarevitch  ;  it  only  replaced  the  tragic  reality  by 
nightmares  more  horrible  still.  Not  only  his  sleep  but 
his  waking  hours  were  full  of  visions.  He  lived  a  double 
life,  in  which  dreams  and  reality  mingled  and  became 
indistinguishable. 


394  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

One  time  he  dreamt  that  his  father  was  flogging  his 
mother  in  the  torture  chamber:  he  hears  the  hiss  of  the 
knout  and  the  horrible  dull  sound  of  the  blows  on  the  bare 
flesh  ;  he  sees  the  dark  violet  stripes  on  the  pale  body  ;  he 
replies  to  the  cries  of  his  mother  by  a  still  more  terrible  cry, 
and  falls  unconscious. 

Or  else  he  feels  ready  to  avenge  his  mother,  himself,  and 
all  those  who  have  suffered.  He  awakes  in  bed  at  night, 
takes  a  razor  from  under  his  pillow,  and  in  his  nightshirt 
prowls  through  the  dark  corridors  of  the  Palace.  He  steps 
over  an  orderly  who  sleeps  on  the  threshold,  enters  his 
father's  room,  leans  over  him,  feels  for  his  throat  and  cuts 
it.  He  feels  that  the  blood  runs  cold  as  from  a  dead  body. 
Frightened  he  breaks  off  and  hurries  away  without  looking 
back. 

Another  time  he  hears  the  words  of  Scripture  concerning 
Judas,  "  He  went  out  and  hanged  himself."  He  slips  out 
into  a  closet  under  the  staircase  where  all  kinds  of  rubbish 
are  stored,  mounts  on  an  old  three-legged  chair  which  he 
props  up  with  a  box,  fastens  a  rope  used  for  a  lantern  to  a 
hook  in  the  ceiling,  makes  a  running  noose,  puts  it  round  his 
neck,  and  before  pushing  the  chair  away  tries  to  cross 
himself ;  he  cannot  do  it,  his  hand  refuses  to  move. 

Suddenly,  he  can't  tell  whence,  a  large  black  cat  jumps 
to  his  feet,  rubs,  purrs,  arches  his  back  and  standing  up  on 
his  hind  legs,  puts  his  forepaws  on  Alexis'  shoulders.  It  is 
no  longer  a  cat  but  a  gigantesque  animal.  And  the  Tsar- 
evitch  recognizes  in  the  animal's  face,  a  human  face,  wide 
jaw  bones,  protruding  eyes,  rough  moustache.  He  tries 
to  escape  from  his  embrace,  but  the  animal,  throwing  him 
down,  plays  with  him  like  a  mouse  ;  now  gripping,  now 
releasing,  now  caressing,  now  scratching.  Suddenly  he 
fastens  his  claws  into  Alexis'  heart.  He  recognizes  him  of 
whom  it  is  said,  "  They  worshipped  the  Beast  saying,  '  Who 
is  like  unto  the  Beast,  who  is  able  to  make  war  with  him  ?  '  " 


CHAPTER    IV 

ON  Sunday,  March  2,  the  service  in  the  Church  of  the 
Assumption  was  conducted  by  the  newly  appointed 
Bishop  of  Pskoff,  Feofan  Prokopovitch 

Only  the  nobility  and  officials  were  admitted. 

Near  one  of  the  four  huge  pillars,  covered  with  frescoes 
of  dark  faces  on  dim  gold,  which  support  the  dome,  under 
the  canopy  where  the  ancient  Tsars  of  Muscovy  had  prayed, 
stood  Peter.     Near  him  was  Alexis. 

The  Tsarevitch  looked  at  Feofan,  and  to  his  mind  came 
all  he  had  heard  about  him. 

Feofan  had  taken  the  place  of  Theodosius,  who  had 
grown  old  and  latterly  more  inclined  to  melancholy.  It 
was  Feofan  who  had  devised  the  decree  which  ordered  that 
crimes  revealed  in  confession  should  be  reported.  He  also 
had  compiled  the  Ecclesiastical  Statute  which  was  to  guide 
the  institution  of  the  Holy  Synod. 

The  Tsarevitch  eyed  the  new  Bishop  with  curiosity  ;  he 
was  a  Tcherkass  by  birth,  a  Little  Russian,  about  thirty 
years  old,  ruddy,  with  a  shining  face,  glossy  black  beard, 
and  large  glossy  moustaches  ;  he  looked  very  much  like 
a  huge  beetle.  When  he  laughed  his  whiskers  moved  like 
the  horns  of  a  beetle.  From  this  smile  alone  it  could  be 
guessed  that  he  enjoyed  the  coarse  Latin  jokes,  the  jests  of 
Poggio,  no  less  than  the  greasy  galoushas  (small  dumplings) 
of  his  native  place  ;  and  sharp  dialectic  as  much  as  good 
brandy. 

Notwithstanding  his  clerical  dignity,  a  kind  of  intense 
merriment,  bordering  on  intoxication,  trembled  and  flitted 
almost  imperceptibly  across  his  face.  He  was  drunk  with 
his  own  intelligence,  this  red-cheeked  Silenus  in  a  bishop's 
robe.     "  O  head,  my  head,  that  hast  been  drunk  with 


396  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

knowledge,  where  wilt  thou  rest  now  ?  "  he  used  to  say  in 
his  moments  of  candour. 

And  the  Tsarevitch  wondered  with  what  is  called  in 
the  Book  of  Revelation  "a  great  wonder,"  at  the  idea  that 
this  mendicant,  this  runaway  "Uniate,"  or  advocate  of  the 
Union  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  Churches,  who  had  taken 
Roman  vows,  this  pupil  first  of  Jesuits,  then  of  Protestants, 
and  then  of  Atheistic  philosophers,  maybe  an  atheist  him- 
self, was  compiling  the  Spiritual  ordinance  on  which 
depended  the  fate  of  the  Russian  Church. 

When  the  archdeacon  of  the  Cathedral  had  pronounced 
the  usual  anathema  against  all  heretics  and  apostates,  from 
Arius  down  to  Gregory  Otrepieff  and  Mazeppa,  the  bishop 
mounted  on  the  ambo  and  gave  a  discourse  on  the  power 
and  honour  of  the  Tsar. 

The  oration  set  forth  what  was  to  be  the  corner-stone  of 
the  Holy  Synod :  the  Sovereign  as  the  head  of  the  Church. 

"  The  teacher  of  nations,  the  Apostle  Paul,  proclaims 
that  '  there  is  no  power  hut  of  God :  the  powers  that  be  are  or- 
dained of  God.  Whosoever  therefore  resistcth  the  power, 
resisteth  the  ordinance  of  God.'  Truly  these  are  wonderful 
words  !  I  am  almost  tempted  to  say  that  Paul  was  sent 
by  the  Emperors  themselves,  so  assiduously  does  he  exhort, 
repeating  again  and  again,  '  Power  comes  from  God,  from 
God  alone.'  I  beseech  every  one  to  consider,  what  more 
could  a  faithful  minister  of  the  Tsar  say  ?  Let  us  add,  as 
a  crown  to  this  exhortation,  the  names  and  titles  befittmg 
those  who  have  the  highest  power,  which  are  a  fairer  endow- 
ment to  Tsar  than  purple  and  diadems.  What  titles  ?  what 
names  are  these  ?  Autocrats  are  termed  gods  and  Christs. 
Because  of  the  power  given  by  God,  they  are  called  gods, 
that  is  representatives  of  God  on  earth.  Their  other  name 
is  Christ,  which  means  '  anointed,'  because  of  that  ancient 
ceremony  when  the  Tsars  are  anointed  with  oil.  Paul 
further  says,' Servants,  obey  your  Masters  as  ye  obey  Christ !' 
Hence  the  Apostle  made  the  masters  equal  to  Christ.  But 
what  is  most  astonishing  and  clothes  this  truth  with  ada- 
mantine armour — it  cannot  be  overlooked  :  the  Scriptures 
demand  obedience,  not  only  to  good  lords  but  also  to  those 
who  are  wicked,  faithless  and  godless.  Everybody  knows 
the   words.     '  Fear   God,   honour   the   king.     Servants,    be 


THE   WERE-WOLF  397 

subject  to  your  masters  with  all  fear,  not  only  to  the  good  and 
gentle  but  also  to  the  froward.'  And  David  the  prophet, 
himself  a  king,  calls  Saul,  though  impious  and  rejected  by 
God, '  the  anointed  of  the  Lord.'  He  says,  '  Seeing  he  is  the 
anointed  of  the  Lord.'  But  you  will  say.  Whatever  Saul 
may  have  been,  nevertheless  he  was  anointed  king  by  God's 
special  order,  and  therefore  found  worthy  of  that  honour. 
Good  ;  but  tell  me  who  was  Cyrus  of  Persia,  who  Nebuchad- 
nezzar of  Babylon  ?  Yet  God  Himself,  by  the  prophets,  calls 
them  '  His  anointed,'  or,  according  to  David,  '  Christs  of  the 
Lord.'  Who  was  Nero,  the  Roman  Emperor  ?  Yet  the 
Apostle  Peter  exhorts  obedience  even  to  this  cruel  perse- 
cutor of  the  Christians,  as  to  the  anointed,  '  The  Lord's 
Christ.'  One  doubtful  point  remains  :  are  all  men  bound 
by  this  obedience  to  sovereigns  ?  are  not  some  exempt 
from  it,  especially  the  clergy  and  monks  ?  This  is  a 
thorn,  or  rather  a  fang — the  fang  of  the  serpent.  This  is 
the  Papal  idea  !  The  clergy  has  a  separate  rank  among  the 
people,  but  not  a  separate  kingdom.  Every  one  to  his 
own  business;  the  military,  civil  officers,  doctors,  merchants, 
the  different  artisans,  all  have  their  duties ;  so  also  pastors 
and  all  clergy  have  their  own  appointed  duty,  to  serve 
God  ;  but  at  the  same  time  they  are  subject  to  the  rulers  and 
powers.  In  the  old  Jewish  Church  the  Levites  were  in  all 
things  subject  to  the  king  of  Israel.  If  this  were  so  in  the 
Old  Testament  why  should  it  not  be  the  same  in  the  New  ? 
The  law  about  authority  is  unchangeable  ^and  eternal, 
and  has  existed  since  the  world  began." 

Then  came  the  conclusion  :— 

"  All  ye  people  of  Russia,  not  only  laity,  but  clergy, 
must  honour  your  Autocrat,  the  most  pious  Peter  Alexeye- 
vitch,  as  your  head,  father  of  your  country,  and  Christ 
of  the  Lord  !  " 

The  last  words  he  uttered  in  a  sonorous  voice,  looking 
straight  at  the  Tsar,  and  raising  his  hand  towards  the 
vaulted  roof,  where  a  dark  painting  of  the  face  of  Christ 
stood  out  on  a  dim  golden  background. 

The  Tsarevitch,  listening  to  his  convenient  doctrine, 
wondered  with  a  great  wonder. 

Since  all  Tsars,  even  the  impious,  are  "  Christs  of  God," 
so  also  presumably  would  be  the  last  and  the  greatest  oi 


398  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

them,  he  who  will  come,  the  Tsar  of  the  world — the  Anti- 
christ ? 

A  blasphemy  had  been  uttered  !  by  a  prelate  of  the 
Orthodox  Church  in  the  oldest  cathedral  of  Moscow,  in 
the  presence  of  Tsar  and  people  ;  yet  the  earth  had  not 
opened  to  engulph  the  blasphemer  ;  no  lire  from  heaven  had 
fallen  upon  him  ! 

Everything  remained  calm  ;  above  the  slanting  sheaves 
of  sunbeams,  above  the  azure  clouds  of  incense,  the  face 
of  Christ  in  the  centre  of  the  dome  seemed  to  ascend  to  the 
skies,  inaccessible,  remote. 

The  Tsarevitch  glanced  at  his  father.     He  was  quite 
calm  and  listened  with  pious  attention. 
Encouraged  by  this  attention,  Feofan  concluded  solemnly  : 

"  Rejoice,  O  Russia,  be  proud  and  thankful  !  Let  all 
thy  cities  and  frontiers  be  glad,  for  on  thy  horizon,  like  a 
radiant  sun,  rises  the  flame  of  the  Tsar's  son,  the  three- 
year-old  infant,  Peter  Petrovitch,  the  heir  designed  by 
God.  May  he  live  happily,  may  he  reign  prosperously, 
Peter  the  Second,  Peter  the  Blessed !     Amen." 

When  Feofan  had  ended,  a  voice,  weak  but  clear,  came 
out  of  the  crowd  : — 

"  Lord,  save,  keep  and  bestow  thy  grace  upon  the  only 
true  heir  to  the  Russian  throne,  the  most  pious  Tsarevitch, 
Alexis  Petrovitch." 

The  crowd  shuddered  as  one  man,  and  remained  motion- 
less, terror-struck.  Then  it  began  to  grow  noisy  and  rest- 
less. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  who  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  madman,  no  doubt !  " 

"  One  possessed  !  " 

"  What  are  the  guards  about  !     How  has  he  got  in  !  " 

"  He  ought  to  be  arrested  at  once,  else  he  will  escape  ; 
it  will  be  impossible  to  find  him  in  the  crowd." 

At  the  far  end  of  the  Church,  where  nothing  had  been 
either  seen  or  heard,  the  wildest  rumours  were  spreading. 

"  A  revolt,  a  revolt  !  " 

"  Fire  !  the  altar  has  caught  fire  !  " 

"  A  man  with  a  knife  has  been  arrested ;  he  wanted  to 
murder  the  Tsar  !  " 

The  alarm  increased. 


THE   WERE-WOLF  399 

Without  paying  any  attention  to  what  was  going  on, 
Peter  approached  the  prelate,  kissed  the  crucifix,  and, 
returning  to  his  place,  ordered  the  speaker  of  these  "  frantic 
words  "  to  be  brought  before  him. 

Captain  Skorniakoff-Pissareff  and  two  sergeants  led 
before  the  Tsar  a  small,  frail  old  man. 

The  old  man  handed  a  paper  to  the  Tsar  ;  it  was  a 
printed  copy  of  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  new  heir. 

At  the  bottom,  on  the  space  left  for  the  signature,  some- 
thing was  written  in  a  compact,  florid  clerk's  handwriting. 

Peter  glanced  at  the  paper,  then  at  the  old  man  and 
asked  : 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Larion  Dokoukin,  late  clerk  in  the  arsenal." 

The  Tsarevitch,  who  stood  close  by,  at  once  recognized 
him  ;  it  was  the  same  Dokoukin  whom  he  had  met  at  Peters- 
burg in  the  spring  of  1715  at  St.  Simon's  Church,  and  who 
had  been  to  his  house  the  day  of  the  Venus  Festival  in  the 
Summer  Garden. 

He  had  remained  the  same  common  clerk,  one  of  those 
who  are  termed  "  inky  souls,"  pettifoggers,  hard,  fossilized, 
dull  and  colourless,  like  the  papers  over  which  he  had 
pored  in  his  ofhce  for  thirty  years,  at  the  end  of  which  he 
had  been  dismissed  for  accepting  bribes.  And  in  his  eyes 
there  gleamed,  just  as  three  years  ago,  his  fixed  idea. 

Dokoukin  in  his  turn  glanced  stealthily  at  Alexis.  The 
expression  which  flitted  across  the  man's  hard  features, 
reminded  the  Tsarevitch  of  their  interview  ;  how  Dokoukin 
had  begged  him  "  zealously  to  work  for  the  Christian  Faith," 
how  he  had  wept,  embraced  his  knees  and  called  him, 
"  Russia's  hope." 

"  Do  you  refuse  to  swear  allegiance  ?  "  said  Peter  calmly, 
as  if  surprised. 

Dokoukin,  looking  straight  at  the  Tsar,  in  the  same  low 
clear  voice,  which  could  be  heard  all  over  the  Church, 
repeated  by  heart  what  he  had  written  on  the  printed 
paper. 

"  I  neither  recognize  the  Tsarevitch  Peter  to  be  the 
legitimate  heir,  nor  will  I  swear  allegiance  to  him  on  the 
holy  Gospels  or  by  kissing  the  crucifix,  on  account  of  the 
unmerited  dispossession  and  expulsion  from  the  Russian 


400  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

throne  of  the  only  legitimate  heir.  Lord  Alexis  Petrovitch  ! 
May  God  keep  him!  Though  the  Tsar's  wrath  should 
smite  me  for  this,  I  cannot  otherwise,  may  the  will  of  my 
God  and  Lord  Jesus  Christ  be  done.    Amen,  Amen,  Amen  !  " 

Peter  looked  at  him  with  yet  greater  amazement.  And 
the  whole  building,  crowded  with  the  dignitaries  of  this 
world,  listened  in  dead  silence. 

"  Do  you  know  that  such  disobedience  to  our  will  means 
death  !  " 

"  I  know  it.  Sovereign  ;  I  came  with  the  view  of  suffering 
for  Christ's  sake,"  replied  Dokoukin  simply. 

"  You  are  brave,  old  man!  Let  us  see,  however,  what 
you  will  say  when  you  are  at  the  gallows  !  " 

Dokoukin  crossed  himself  silently  and  deliberately. 

"  Did  you  hear,"  continued  the  Tsar,  "what  the  bishop 
has  said  just  now  about  subjection  to  the  higher  powers  ? 
There  is  no  power  but  from  God  !  " 

"  I  heard  it.  Lord  ;  '  The  powers  that  he  are  ordained  by 
God,  and  what  is  not  of  God,  is  no  power.'  But  it  is  not 
befitting  to  call  impious  Tsars  and  Antichrists, '  the  anointed 
of  the  Lord,'  and  he  who  says  it  ought  to  have  his  tongue 
torn  out  !  " 

"  Do  you  consider  me  Antichrist  ?  "  asked  Peter,  with  a 
tinge  of  sadness  and  a  smile  which  was  almost  kind. 
"  Speak  the  truth  !  " 

The  old  man  looked  down  at  first,  but  the  next  moment 
he  raised  his  head  and  looked  straight  at  the  Tsar. 

"  I  believ^e  thee  to  be  the  most  pious,  orthodox  Tsar, 
Autocrat  of  all  the  Russias,  the  Lord's  anointed,"  he 
declared  in  a  firm  voice. 

"  If  so,  you  should  do  as  we  wish  and  hold  your  tongue." 

"  Lord  Tsar,  your  Majesty,  hold  my  tongue,  even  if  I 
would,  it  were  impossible  ;  I  burn  inwardly  like  a  flame ; 
my  conscience  urges  me  on,  I  cannot  bear  it.  If  we  re- 
mained silent  the  stones  would  cry  out." 

He  fell  at  the  Tsar's  feet. 

"  Lord  Peter  Alexeyevitch,  little  Father,  listen  to  us 
miserable  folk !  We  dare  not  change  or  alter  anything, 
but  in  the  same  way  as  thy  parents,  forefathers  and  the 
holy  patriarchs  worked  out  their  salvation,  we  too  want 
to  be  saved,  and  to  reach  the  heavenly  Jerusalem.     In 


THE    WERE-WOLF  401 

the  name  of  God,  seek  the  truth  ;  in  the  name  of  Jesus 
seek  the  truth  !  For  the  sake  of  thy  own  salvation  seek 
the  truth  !  Pacify  the  Holy  Church,  thy  mother.  Judge 
us  without  wrath  and  anger  !  Show  mercy  unto  thy  people, 
show  mercy  to  the  Tsarevitch  !  " 

At  first  Peter  listened  attentively  and  even  with  curiosity, 
as  though  trying  to  understand. 

But  after  a  while  he  turned  away,  in  weariness  shrugging 
his  shoulders  : — 

"  Enough  !  Enough  !  It  is  impossible  to  hear  all  you 
have  to  say,  old  man.  No  doubt  I  have  hanged  too  few  of 
you  fools.  WTiat  are  you  aiming  at  ?  What  do  you 
want  ?  Do  you  imagine  I  revere  God's  Church  and  believe 
in  Christ  my  Saviour  less  than  you  do  ?  And  who  set  you 
slaves  to  judge  between  Tsar  and  God  ?  How  dare 
you !  " 

Dokoukin  rose  and  lifted  his  eyes  up  to  the  dark  face  in 
the  vaulted  roof  of  the  Church.  A  ray  of  sunshine  sur- 
rounded as  with  an  aureola  his  blanched  head. 

"  How  do  we  dare.  Tsar  ?  "  he  exclaimed  in  a  loud  voice. 
"  Listen,  your  Majesty.  It  is  said  in  the  Holy  Scriptures, 
'  What  is  man,  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him  ?  and  the 
son  of  man,  that  Thou  visitest  him  ?  For  Thou  hast  made 
him  a  little  lower  than  the  angels,  and  hast  crowned  him 
with  glory  and  honour.  Thou  madest  him  to  have  dominion 
over  the  works  of  Thy  hands  ;  thou  hast  put  all  things 
under   his   feet.' 

"  Thus  it  is  that  God  has  ordained  man  to  be  lord  of  him- 
self, self-ruling  ;  ordainer  and  arbiter  of  his  own  actions. 
He  is  to  be  se//-controlled  !     What  hast  thou  made  of  him  ?  " 

Slowly,  as  though  with  an  effort,  Peter  averted  his  eyes 
from  Dokoukin.  On  leaving  he  turned  to  Tolstoi,  who 
stood  close  at  hand,  saying  : — 

"  Take  him  to  the  prison  and  keep  him  under  strict 
watch  until  the  inquiry." 

The  old  man  was  seized  ;  he  struggled,  cr3dng  that  he 
had  still  more  to  say.     He  was  bound  and  carried  off. 

"  O  secret  martyrs  !  fear  not  !  neither  despair  !  "  he 
continued  to  shout,  looking  at  Alexis.  "  Bear  patiently 
yet  a  little  while,  for  the  Lord's  sake.  He  is  coming.  He 
will  not  be  slow.     Even  so  !    Come,  Lord  Jesus  !     Amen." 

cc 


402  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  Tsarevitch,  pale  and  trembling,  stood  listening  and 
gazing  at  the  scene. 

"  That  man  is,  as  I  should  be  !  "  said  he  to  himself,  now 
only  understanding  the  whole  of  his  past  life.  Something 
was  changed,  transformed  within  his  soul ;  what  till  now 
had  been  a  weight  became  wings.  Well  knew  he  that  he 
should  fall  back  into  weakness,  melancholy,  despair,  but 
he  also  knew  that  he  should  forget  no  more  what  he  had 
just  for  the  first  time  fully  understood. 

He,  too,  like  Dokoukin,  raised  his  eyes  to  the  dark 
image  in  the  dome.  And  it  seemed  to  him,  in  the  slant- 
ing rays  of  the  sun,  and  the  blue  clouds  of  the  incense,  the 
gigantic  Face  was  moving,  no  longer  receding  from  the 
earth  as  before,  but  descending,  coming  down  nearer  from 
heaven  ;  the  Lord  Himself  was  approaching  at  last. 

With  joy  akin  to  tearfulness  he  repeated,  "  Even  so ! 
Come,  Lord  Jesus  !    Amen." 


CHAPTER    V 

THE  Moscow  inquiry  ended  on  March  15.  The  ver- 
dict of  the  Tsar  and  ministers,  given  in  the  supreme 
court  of  Preobrajhenskoye,  sealed  the  fate  of  the  culprits. 

The  ex-Tsaritsa,  Sister  Helen,  was  to  be  sent  to  Old 
Ladoga  and  there  shut  up  in  a  convent,  the  Tsarevna 
Marya  to  Schlusselbourg  ;  both  to  be  rigorously  confined 
and  closely  watched.  Abraham  Lapoukhin  was  taken 
to  the  Peter  and  Paul  fortress  at  Petersburg  to  await  a 
fresh  inquiry.     The  others  were  to  suffer  death. 

The  executions  began  that  same  morning  on  the  Red 
Square.  The  iron  pikes,  on  which  had  remained  for  twenty 
years  the  heads  of  the  Streltzi,  decapitated  in  1698, 
were  cleaned  and  made  ready  to  receive  other  heads. 

Stephen  Gleboff,  the  Tsaritsa's  lover,  was  impaled.  He 
was  seated  on  a  small  board.  The  iron  spike  issued  from 
his  skull.  To  prevent  his  freezing,  and  to  prolong  his 
tortures  as  much  as  possible,  he  was  given  a  fur  coat  and 
cap.  There  priests  watched  him  day  and  night,  in  the 
hope  that  he  would  reveal  some  secret  before  his  death. 
One  of  them  reported  :  "  From  the  moment  that  Stephen 
was  impaled,  he  confessed  nothing  to  us  ;  all  he  did  was 
to  ask  the  arch-monk  Marcellus  to  give  him  the  communion 
secretly  ;  and  while  receiving  it  he  gave  up  the  ghost, 
on  March  16,  eight  hours  after  midnight,  during  the  second 
watch." 

Demid,  the  unfrocked  Bishop  of  Rostoff,  was  broken 
on  the  wheel.  It  was  said  that  the  secretary,  to  whom 
the  execution  had  been  entrusted,  made  a  mistake.  Instead 
of  having  the  bishop  beheaded  and  his  body  burnt,  he  had 
him  broken  on  the  wheel. 

Kikin  suffered  the  same  death.  He  was  tortured  slowly, 
at  intervals ;  his  legs  and  arms  were  broken  one  after  the 
other  ;  his  torture  lasted  for  more  than  twenty-four  hours. 

403 


404  iPETER  AND  ALEXIS 

His  agony  was  increased  by  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
roped  so  tightly  to  the  wheel  that  he  could  not  move  in 
the  least :  he  cried  and  moaned,  praying  to  be  finished  off. 
It  is  reported  that  the  Tsar,  passing  by  on  horseback, 
stooped  down  towards  him  and  said  : 

"  Alexander,  you  are  an  intelligent  man.  How  came 
it  that  you  dared  to  take  part  in  such  an  affair  ?  " 

"  Intelligence  loves  space,  and  you,  you  stifle  it !  * 
Kikin  is  supposed  to  have  answered. 

The  third  to  suffer  on  the  wheel  was  the  ex-Tsaritsa's 
confessor,  Theodore  Poustinni,  who  had  been  an  inter- 
mediary between  her  and  Gleboff. 

Those  who  escaped  death,  had  their  noses  and  tongues 
slit,  or  nostrils  torn  off.  Several,  who  had  only  heard 
about  the  Tsaritsa's  seclusion  and  had  seen  her  in  secular 
dress,  were  pitilessly  flogged  ! 

On  the  Square  a  white  stone  pillar  was  erected  six  feet 
high,  flanked  with  iron  spikes  ;  the  heads  of  the  victims 
were  stuck  on  these  spikes.  The  pillar  was  crowned  by  a 
large  flat  slab,  bodies  were  laid  on  it,  among  them  Gieboff's, 
surrounded  as  it  were  by  his  accomplices. 

The  Tsarevitch  was  forced  to  be  present  at  all  these 
executions. 

Larion  Dokoukin  was  the  last  to  be  broken  on  the  wheel. 
When  roped  to  it,  he  declar-ed  he  had  something  to  com- 
municate to  the  Tsar.  He  was  unbound  and  taken  to 
Preobrajhenskoye.  When  the  Tsar  came  up  to  him,  he 
was  already  in  delirium,  muttering  something  about  the 
coming  Christ.  Then  for  a  moment  he  seemed  to  recover 
consciousness,  looked  steadfastly  at  the  Tsar,  and  said  : — 

"  If  you  put  your  son  to  death,  his  blood  will  fall  on 
you  and  on  all  your  descendants,  from  father  to  son,  to  the 
last  of  the  Tsars.  Have  pity  on  your  son  !  have  pity  on 
Russia !  " 

Peter  said  nothing,  left  him,  and  ordered  his  head  to  be 
cut  off. 

On  the  day  after  the  executions,  the  eve  of  Peter's 
departure  for  Petersburg,  a  midnight  orgie  of  the  "  Most 
Drunken  Convocation  "  was  to  be  held  at  Preobrajhenskoye. 

In  these  bloody  days,  just  as  during  the  Streltzi  execu- 
tions and  all  the  blackest  days  of  his  life,  Peter  more  zeal- 


THE    WERE-WOLF  405 

ously  than  ever  gave  himself  up  to  buffoonery,  as  if  trying 
to  deafen  himself  with  the  sound  of  laughter. 

A  new  Kniaz-Pope  Peter  Ivanovitch  Bourtourline, 
"  Metropolitan  of  St.  Petersburg,"  had  been  recently 
elected  in  place  of  the  late  Nikita  Zotoff.  The  election 
of  the  "  Priest,  Imitator  of  Bacchus,"  had  taken  place  at 
Petersburg,  his  consecration  at  Moscow,  on  the  very  eve 
of  the  Tsarevitch's  arrival.  Now  at  Preobrajhenskoye 
the  enrobing  of  the  newly  elected  pope  was  to  take  place  in 
mitre  and  cassock,  burlesques  of  the  patriarchal  robes. 

The  Tsar  found  time  during  the  legal  inquiry  to  draw 
up  the  entire  programme  for  this  ribald  ceremony. 

The  midnight  orgie  or  "  service  "  took  place  in  a  large 
wooden  hall,  hung  with  red  cloth,  illuminated  with  wax 
tapers,  close  to  the  court  of  judgment  and  the  torture 
chamber,  The  long  narrow  tables  were  arranged  in  the 
shape  of  a  horse-shoe.  In  the  centre  was  a  raised  platform 
with  steps  on  which  were  seated  the  chief  cardinals,  priests, 
and  other  members  of  the  convocation.  A  throne,  sur- 
mounted by  a  velvet  canopy,  was  built  of  casks,  and  decor- 
ated from  top  to  bottom  with  bottles  and  glasses. 

When  all  were  assembled  the  sacristan  and  the  cardinal 
archdeacon — no  other  than  the  Tsar  himself — solemnly 
brought  in  the  new  pope.  Before  him  were  borne  two 
huge  flasks  of  "  very  strong  wine,"  one  gilt,  the  other 
silvered,  and  two  dishes,  one  with  cucumbers,  the  other 
with  cabbage,  finally,  an  obscene  icon,  the  naked  Bacchus. 
The  Kniaz-Pope,  bowing  thrice  to  the  prince-caesar  and 
to  the  cardinals,  offered  to  his  Majesty  the  flasks  and  the 
dishes. 

The  Archimage  questioned  the  pope. 

"  Why  have  you  come,  and  what  do  you  require  from 
our  Intemperance  ?  " 

"To  be  arrayed  in  the  robes  of  our  father  Bacchus," 
answered  the  pope. 

"  How  do  you  keep  the  laws  of  Bacchus,  and  what  are 
your  merits  in  that  respect  ?  " 

"  O,  Most  Drunken  Father  !  On  rising,  while  yet  dark, 
before  the  break  of  dawn,  sometimes  even  about  mid- 
night, I  drink  two,  three  bumpers  of  wine,  and  during  the 
day  I  employ  myself  in  the  same  way,  and  fill  my  belly 


4o6  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

with  various  drinks,  like  a  barrel.  So  it  happens  that  the 
trembling  of  my  hand  and  the  darkness  which  fills  my  eyes 
prevents  me  from  finding  my  mouth  \\hen  I  try  to  eat. 
This  is  what  I  do,  and  this  is  what  I  promise  to  teach  to 
those  entrusted  to  me.  And  all  those  who  think  differently 
and  wage  war  against  drink  I  will  as  strangers  utterly 
deny  and  anathematize.  Amen  !  " 
The  Archimage  proclaimed  : — 

"May  the  drunkenness  of  Bacchus,  which  passeth  all 
understanding,  in  complete  lack  of  steadiness,  uprightness, 
and  sanity  be  with  thee  all  the  days  of  thy  life  !  " 

The  cardinals  led  the  pope  on  to  the  platform,  and 
arrayed  him  in  vestments ;  burlesque  imitations  of  the 
cassocks,  omophorium,  stole,  and  epigonation,  embroidered 
with  dice,  cards,  bottles,  pipes  and  nude  figures  of  Venus 
and  Bacchus.  Instead  of  a  panagia,  clay  flasks  with 
bells  were  hung  round  the  neck,  the  book-cask,  containing 
flasks  of  various  kinds  of  vodka,  and  a  cross  of  pipes  were 
handed  to  him,  He  was  anointed  on  the  head  and  round 
the  eyes  with  strong  wine. 

"  So  may  your  head  go  round  and  circles  dance  in  various 
shapes  before  your  eyes  henceforth  unto  the  end  of  your 
life." 

Both  his  hands  and  the  four  fingers  which  held  the 
bumper  were  then  anointed. 

"  So  may  your  hands  tremble  all  the  days  of  your  life." 
In  conclusion  the  Archimage  set  a  tin  mitre  on  his  head. 
"  May    this   crown   of  the    mistiness   of  Bacchus   ever 
remain  on  your  head  !     I  a  drunkard  crown  this  toper  : — 
In  the  name  of  all  drunkards, 
In  the  name  of  every  bottle, 
In  the  name  of  all  the  fools, 
In  the  name  of  all  buffoons, 
In  the  name  of  all  the  grapes, 
In  the  name  of  all  the  hops, 
In  the  name  of  all  the  casks, 
In  the  name  of  all  the  hogs, 
In  the  name  of  all  tobacco, 
In  the  name  of  all  pothouses, 
Homes  of  our  father  Bacchus. 
Amen." 


THE   WERE-WOLF  407 

The    assembly    shouted  : 

"  Axios  ! — He  is  worthy." 

The  pope  was  then  enthroned  on  the  barrels.  Just 
above  his  head  hung  a  small  silver  Bacchus  astride  of  a 
cask.  Bending  it  towards  himself  the  pope  conveniently 
could  draw  brandy  either  into  his  glass  or  straight  into 
his  moulh. 

Not  only  the  members  of  the  convocation  but  all  the 
other  guests  approached  His  Holiness  in  their  turn.  They 
bowed  low  before  him  and  received,  instead  of  a  blessmg, 
a  blow  on  their  head  with  a  pig's  bladder  soaked  in  brandy, 
and  then  partook  of  the  pepper  brandy  offered  in  a  huge 
wooden  spoon. 

The  priests  chanted  : — 

"  O  most  honourable  father  Bacchus,  born  of  the  burnt 
Semele,  reared  in  Jupiter's  thigh,  dispenser  of  the  joys 
of  the  Vine  !  We  call  on  thee  in  the  company  of  all  this 
most  drunken  assembly.  Multiply  and  direct  the  steps 
of  this  world-wide-ruling  prince-pope  so  that  he  may 
walk  in  Ihy  ways.     And  thou,  most  glorious  Venus " 

Here  followed  obscene  adjurations. 

At  last  the  guests  sat  down  to  table.  Opposite  the 
prince-pope  sat  the  real  chief  ecclesiastic ;  Feofan  Pro- 
kopovitch  had  taken  his  place,  Peter  next  to  him, 
then  Theodosius ;  Alexis  sat  opposite  the  Tsar  his 
father. 

The  Tsar  began  talking  over  with  Feofan  the  news  which 
had  just  reached  them  of  the  thousands  of  Raskolniks  who 
had  burnt  themselves  alive  in  the  forests  of  Kerjenetz  and 
Tchernoramensk,  near  the  Volga.  The  drunken  songs 
and  shouts  of  the  buffoons  hindered  the  conversation. 

At  a  sign  from  Peter  the  priests  stopped  short  in  their 
chant  in  honour  of  Bacchus ;  all  were  hushed,  and  in  this 
sudden  silence  Feofan's  voice  was  heard  saying  : — 

"  What  cursed  madmen,  what  frantic  martyrs  !  insatiable 
in  the  vanity  of  their  desire  for  torture  !  They  throw 
themselves  into  the  flames  of  their  own  free  will,  fling- 
ing themselves  recklessly  into  the  abyss  of  hell,  showing 
others  the  way.  To  call  them  mad  were  too  little ;  there 
is  no  adequate  name  for  such  an  evil !  May  all  disown 
them  and  spit  on  them." 


4o8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  But  whit  can  be  done  with  them  ?  "  asked  Peter. 

"  It  ought  to  be  explained  to  them,  your  Majesty,  in  an 
exhortation,  that  not  every  suffering  is  acceptable  before 
God,  but  only  suffering  ordained  by  law.  For  the  Lord 
does  not  simply  say,  '  Blessed  are  the  persecuted,'  but, 
'  Blessed  are  they  who  are  persecuted  for  righteousness' 
sake.'  And  such  persecution  for  righteousness'  sake  can 
never  threaten  Russia,  which  is  an  orthodox  country ;  it 
is  impossible  for  such  a  thing  to  hippen " 

"  Explain  to  them  ? "  cried  the  superseded  Theodosius, 
with  a  malicious  smile,  "  of  what  use  in  the  world  would 
thit  be  ?  The  jaws  of  apostates  should  be  broken.  If  in 
Xhi  Old  Testament  it  was  ordained  that  rebels  must  be  put 
to  death,  how  much  is  this  so  in  the  New  Testament, 
wh^re  direct  truth  takes  the  places  of  images  and  shadows  ? 
Better  is  it  for  heretics  themselves,  better  to  die  ;  to  kill 
them  is  an  act  of  kinlness  ;  the  longer  they  live  the  more 
they  sin,  and  the  more  seductions  they  invent  to  mislead. 
There  is  not  much  difference  between  killing  a  sinner  with 
weapons   or   with    prayer." 

"  That  is  a  bad  argument,"  calmly  replied  Feofan, 
without  looking  at  Theodosius.  "  Cruelty  is  more  liable  to 
exasperate  than  to  subdue  folks  bent  on  being  martyrs. 
People  must  be  brought  to  the  Church,  not  by  force  and 
fear,  but  by  the  charity  of  the  Gospels." 

"  True,  true,"  agreed  Peter;  "we  do  not  wish  to  hinder 
freedom  of  conscience,  and  gladly  leave  each  individual 
to  work  out  his  own  salvation.  In  my  opinion  let  every 
man  believe  what  he  pleases ;  if  arguments  fail  to  convert 
him,  fire  and  sword  will  prove  utterly  useless.  And  the 
maniacs  for  martyrdom  neither  benefit  the  country,  nor 
themselves  receive  the  crown  of  glory." 

"  Slow  and  sure,  everything  will  settle  itself  by  degrees," 
rejoined  Feofan.  "  Nevertheless,"  he  added  in  a  subdued 
voice,  leaning  over  to  the  Tsar,  "  it  would  be  as  well  to 
impose  a  double  tax  on  the  Raskolniks,  so  as  to  bring  back 
to  the  Holy  Church  those  who  are  afraid  of  fines.  Also, 
when  punishment  is  inflicted,  some  obvious  civil  trans- 
gression, other  than  their  heresy,  should  be  found,  and  then, 
having  flogged  them  and  torn  their  nostrils,  they  should, 
according  to  law,  be  sent  to  the  galleys  ;   yet  when  there 


THE   WERE-WOLF  409 

is  no  obvious  civil  fault  exhortations  alone  should  be 
resorted  to." 

Peter  acquiesced  with  a  nod.  The  Tsar  and  the  priest 
understood  each  other. 

Theodosius  looked  as  if  he  would  reply,  but  said  nothing ; 
a  sarcastic  smile  distorted  his  little  face,  which  resembled 
the  snout  of  a  bat,  and  he  shrank  back  into  himself,  green 
with  rage,  as  if  he  had  taken  poison.  Well  he  understood 
what  "  exhortation  "  meant.  Pitirime,  the  bishop  sent 
to  Kerjenetz  to  convert  the  Raskolniks,  had  only  recently 
reported  to  the  Emperor :  "  They  have  been  tortured 
with  exceeding  cruelty ;  even  their  entrails  came  out." 
And  the  Tsar  in  his  ukase  forbade  that  father  Pitirime 
should  be  blamed  for  his  "  apostolic  work."  It  is  easy  to 
speak  about  love,  but  in  reality,  as  the  Raskolniks  com- 
plained, "  Dumb  teachers  stand  in  the  torture  chambers,  in 
their  hands  they  hold  the  knout  instead  of  the  Gospels, 
and  fire  takes  the  place  of  Apostles  to  instruct  them." 

This  was,  however,  the  same  ecclesiastical  policy  of 
dissimulation  Theodosius  himself  had  been  preaching ; 
but  Feofan  had  out-run  him  and  he  felt  his  reign  was 
over. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  astonished  at,"  continued  the 
prelate  in  a  loud  voice,  "  if  uncultured  peasants,  in  their 
extreme  ignorance,  err  from  the  right  way  and  commit 
mad  acts.  What  is  astonishing  is  that  among  the  great 
nobles,  among  the  Tsar's  servants,  some  are  to  be  found, 
who  in  their  wisdom  and  feigned  humility  are  worse  than 
Raskolniks.  It^has  come  so  far  that  even  the  most  worth- 
less insolently  take  part  in  vile  actions.  Already  the 
scum  of  the  people,  unprincipled  men,  born  for  nothing 
else  than  to  be  fed  by  the  labour  of  others,  rise  up  against 
their  Tsar,  against  the  Lord's  Christ.  When  they  receive 
their  daily  bread,  they  ought  to  wonder  and  say, '  Whence 
cometh  this  to  us  ?  '  The  story  of  King  David  is  repeating 
itself ;  David,  against  whom  the  bhnd  and  lame  rebelled. 
Our  pious  monarch  who  has  done  so  much  for  Russia,  by 
whose  providence  all  have  received  security  and  honour, 
has  only  earned  himself  a  bad  name,  and  his  life  is  full  of 
sorrows.  Having  prematurely  aged  himself  by  hard  toil, 
and  when  unmindful  of  his  health,  thinking  only  of  the 


410  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

country's  welfare,  he  is  rushing,  as  it  were,  on  to  his  death, 
there  are  yet  those  who  say,  '  He  hves  too  long.' 
O  sorrow,  shame  on  thee,  thee,  O  Russia  !  let  us  beware 
lest  the  whole  world  say  of  us  :  'The  Tsar  is  worthy  of 
such  an  empire,  but  the  people  are  unworthy  of  such  a 
Tsar.'  " 

When  Feofan  had  finished,  Peter  said  : — 

"  God,  who  sees  my  heart  and  conscience,  knows  how 
dear  to  me  is  my  country's  welfare.  But  the  diabolic  work 
against  m.e.  Never  has  a  ruler  been  confronted  with  so 
many  attacks  and  calamities  as  I  have.  Foreigners  say  I 
govern  slaves.  But  English  freedom  is  out  of  place  here.  It 
would  do  as  much  good  as  peas  thrown  against  a  fortress 
wall.  You  must  first  know  a  people  before  you  can 
decide  how  to  govern  them.  It  is  difficult  for  any  one  to 
judge  me  who  does  not  know  everything.  God  alone 
knows   the   truth.     He   is   my   judge " 

Nobody  listened  to  the  Tsar.  All  were  drunk.  He 
stopped  without  having  said  all  he  meant  to  say,  made  a 
sign,  and  the  priests  resumed  the  hymn  to  Bacchus,  the 
fools  began  shouting.  The  "  Spring  Chorus,"  imitating 
the  different  birds,  from  the  nightingale  to  the  warbler, 
was  so  piercing  that  the  walls  re-echoed  with  its  shrill  noise. 

Everything  went  on  as  usual.  The  guests  drank  and 
ate  till  they  lost  their  senses.  The  dignitaries  fought, 
pulled  one  another's  hair,  and  then  making  peace  rolled 
together  under  the  table.  Prince  Shakhovskoi,  knight 
of  the  burlesque  order  of  Judas,  received  for  money,  boxes 
on  the  ear.  An  old  boyar,  who  refused  to  drink,  had 
brandy  poured  down  his  throat  through  a  funnel.  The 
Kniaz-Pope  vomited,  from  the  height  of  his  throne,  over  the 
wigs  and  coats  of  those  sitting  under  him.  The  drunken 
fool,  the  princess-abbess  Rjevski,  danced  skittishly,  catch- 
ing hold  of  the  bottom  of  her  skirts,  and  sang  in  a  husky 

voice  : — 

Shin,  shen  shivargen  ! 
Once,  once,  again  ! 
Speed,  speed,  speed,  round, 
Burn  !  burn  ! 

The  guests  whistled  and  stamped  in  time,  making  a 
frightful  dust. 


THE    WERE-WOLF  411 

Everything  was  just  as  usual.  Yet  Peter  felt  weary 
of  it  all.  He  drank  as  much  as  possible  of  the  strongest 
English  pepper  and  brandy  on  purpose  to  get  drunk. 
Yet  he  did  not  succeed.  The  more  he  drank,  the  more 
weary  he  became.  He  rose,  sat  down,  rose  again  ;  he 
wandered  among  the  bodies  of  drunken  guests,  strewn  like 
corpses  on  a  battlefield,  and  could  not  find  rest.  His 
heart  began  to  beat  in  mortal  anguish.  Should  he  run 
away,  or  should  he  drive  away  this  rabble  ? 

When  the  cold  cheerless  light  of  the  winter  morn  mingled 
with  the  stinking  gloom  and  the  dim  light  of  candles 
burnt -down,  the  human  faces  grew  yet  more  hideous, 
more  beast-like,  monstrous,  fantastic. 

Peter's  gaze  was  arrested  by  his  son's  face. 

The  Tsarevitch  was  drunk.  His  face  was  deadly  pale. 
The  long  thin  tufts  of  hair  stuck  to  his  sweaty  brow,  his 
eyes  had  grown  dim,  his  lower  jaw  hung  down.  He 
was  trying  not  to  spill  his  wine,  but  the  fingers  which 
held  the  glass  trembled  like  those  of  an  inveterate 
drunkard. 

"Wine  is  not  like  grain,  once  spilt  it  can't  be  picked  up," 
he  muttered  raising  his  glass.  He  drank  it,  made  a  face, 
cleared  his  throat,  and  wanting  to  take  the  taste  away  by  a 
salted  mushroom,  vainly  sought  to  catch  one  with  the  fork. 
He  did  not  succeed,  gave  it  up,  took  a  piece  of  black  bread 
and  began  to  chew  it  slowly. 

"  Dear  friend,  am  I  drunk  ?  tell  me  the  truth,  am  I 
drunk  ?  "  he  repeatedly  asked  Tolstoi  who  was  sitting 
close  by. 

"  Drunk,  quite,"  asserted  Tolstoi. 

"  Now  that's  all  right,"  continued  the  Tsarevitch,  hardly 
able  to  move  his  thick  tongue.  "  What  does  it  matter  to 
me  ?  As  long  as  I  don't  taste  wine,  I  have  no  craving  what- 
ever for  it ;  but  once  I  taste  it,  were  it  only  a  glass,  I  am 
lost.  I  can't  refuse  whenever  it  is  offered.  It's  well  I  am 
not  violent  when  drunk." 

He  laughed  a  low  drunken  laugh  and  suddenly  turned 
to   his   father. 

"  Daddy,  daddy,  why  are  you  so  sad  ?  Come  here,  let  us 
have  a  drink  together !  I  will  sing  to  you  a  song.  You 
will  be  more  cheerful,  really  !  " 


412  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

He  smiled  at  his  father,  and  there  was  something  famihar, 
sweet  and  childhke  in  that  smile. 

"  An  imbecile,  a  simpleton  !  How  is  it  possible  to  kill 
such  a  one !  "  thought  Peter,  and  suddenly  a  wild,  terrible 
pity  clutched  his  heart  like  a  beast. 

He  turned  away,  pretending  to  be  listening  to  Feofan, 
who  was  telling  him  about  the  establishment  of  his  Holy 
Synod,  yet  heard  nothing.  At  last  he  called  an  orderly 
and  told  him  to  get  horses  ready  to  start  at  once  for  Peters- 
burg ;  meanwhile  he  again  began  striding  up  and  down,weary 
and  sober,  among  the  drunkards.  Unconsciously,  as  though 
drawn  by  some  magnet,  he  approached  the  Tsarevitch 
and  sat  down  next  to  him,  but  turned  his  head,  pretending 
to  be  engrossed  in  a  conversation  with  Prince  James 
Dolgorouki. 

"  Daddy,  daddy,"  the  Tsarevitch  gently  touched  his 
father's  hand.  "  Why  are  you  so  sad  ?  Does  he  offend 
you  !     Ram  a  pike  down  his  throat  !  that'll  finish  him." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  Peter  turned  to  his  son. 

"  How  do  I  know,  who  he  is  ?  "  answered  Alexis  with  a 
smile  which  made  even  Peter  shudder.  "  All  I  know  is 
that  now  you  are  yourself  again,  and  that  other,  the  devil 
knows  who  he  is,  a  mere  pretender,  a  beast,  a  were-wolf •" 

"  Alexis,  Alexis,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  Peter 
looked  closely  at  him.     "  You  should  drink  less." 

"  Whether  I  drink  or  not,  die  I  must  !  Better,  then, 
drink  and  die  !  For  you  also  it  will  be  better  if  I  die ;  it 
will  save  you  killing  me,"  and  again  he  grinned,  quite  like 
a  fool,  and  suddenly  began  singing  in  a  low,  scarcely 
audible  voice,  which  seemed  to  come  from  a  distance  : — 

A  maiden,  I  will  wander 

Through  the  fields  of  peace. 

And  there  blue  flowers  I'll  gather. 

For  the  blue  flowers  are  his  : 

And  coming  back  towards  the  river. 

Into    a  wreath  my  spoil  I'll  twine, 

And  throw  this  little  wreath  of  mine 

To  the  stream,  remembering  my  lover. 

"I  had  a  dream  lately,  daddy ;  Afrossinia  was  sitting 
at  night  on  a  snow-covered  field  ;  naked  and  sad  to  look 
at,  as  though  dead,  and  she  was  rocking  a  babe  which  also 


THE   WERE-WOLF  413 

seemed  dead.     She  was   singing  with  tears  in  her  voice 
this  very  song  : 

It  sinks,  it  sinks,  does  my  blue  wreath  ! 
It  sinks,  sinks,  does  my  heart's  breath  ! 
The  flowers  have  gone  to  their  death 
With  him,  who  was  my  hght  ! 

Peter  Hstened,  and  pity,  wild,  terrible,  cruel  pity,  gnawed 
at  his  heart  like  some  fierce  beast. 

The  Tsarevitch  sang  and  wept.  Then  he  laid  his  head 
on  the  table,  knocking  over  the  wine  glass.  A  blood-red 
stain  spread  on  the  tablecloth.  He  put  his  hand  under  his 
head,  closed  his  eyes,  and  fell  asleep. 

Peter  gazed  for  a  long  time  at  this  pale  lifeless  face 
resting  on  the  blood-red  stain. 

The  orderly  entered  and  announced  that  the  horses  were 
ready.  Peter  got  up,  he  glanced  for  the  last  time  at  his 
son,  bent  over  him  and  kissed  his  brow.  The  Tsarevitch 
did  not  open  his  eyes,  yet  in  his  sleep  he  smiled  at  his 
father  with  just  that  tender  smile,  as  when  a  child  the 
father  used  to  take  him  in  his  arms  asleep. 

The  Tsar  left  the  hall  unnoticed.  The  orgie  continued. 
He  took  his  place  in  the  carriage  and  started  off  for 
Petersburg. 


Book  IX 
The  Red  Death 

CHAPTER   I 

IN  the  forest  along  the  Vetlouga  there  stood  a  Raskolnik 
settlement  of  the  "  Old  Believers"  called  "the  Bank 
of  Mosses."  The  roads  leading  to  it  were  impassable  on 
account  of  the  swamps.  It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  get 
there  in  summer,  along  the  narrow  raised  paths,  which 
led  through  thickets  quite  dark  even  in  the  day  time.  In 
winter  it  was  accessible  on  snow  shoes. 

According  to  the  legend  of  its  origin,  three  monks  from 
the  forests  of  Olonetz,  near  the  lake  Tolveoye,  had  come 
here  after  the  destruction  of  their  monastery  by  the  Nikon- 
ians  ;  they  had  followed  the  lead  of  a  miraculous  icon  of 
the  Virgin,  which  had  gone  before  them,  suspended  in 
the  air.  On  the  spot  where  the  icon  descended  to  the 
earth  they  built  a  hut,  and  began  to  live  the  austere  life 
of  hermit  monks.  They  tilled  the  ground  and,  burning 
down  the  wood  along  the  ridges,  sowed  rye-corn  among  the 
ashes.  Disciples  collected  around  them.  When  the  three 
old  men  died,  they  did  so  on  the  same  day,  at  the  same 
hour,  saying  to  their  disciples  :  "  Children,  continue  living 
in  this  blessed  retreat.  You  may  roam  far  and  wide  but 
you  will  not  come  across  another  refuge  like  it.  It  has  been 
predestined  for  the  foundation  of  a  large  and  glorious 
monastery." 

The  prophecy  was  fulfilled ;  the  settlement  grew  in  the 


4i6  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

thickly  wooded  dale,  like  a  lily  of  Paradise  under  the 
protection  of  the  Virgin. 

"  A  miracle  !"  cried  the  settlers.  "  Holy  Russia  has 
grown  dark  while  the  gloomy  regions  of  the  Vetlouga  have 
become  radiant  ;  the  desert  has  been  peopled  with 
saints  who  have  assembled  there  like  the  six-winged 
seraphim."  It  was  here  that,  after  long  roaming  in  the 
forests  of  Kerjenetz  and  Tchernoramensk,  Father  Cornelius, 
the  prophet  of  the  Red  Death,  and  his  disciple  the  runaway 
Tichon  Zapolsky,  son,  as  the  reader  will  remember,  of  a 
Streletz  rebel,  had  taken  up  their  abode. 

One  night  in  June,  not  far  from  the  settlement,  on  a 
steep  rock  overhanging  the  river,  a  fire  was  burning. 
The  flames  lit  up  the  lower  branches  of  a  pine  to  whose 
trunk  an  old  Raskolnik's  brass  icon  was  nailed.  Two 
persons  were  sitting  near  the  fire  ;  the  young  girl-novice 
Sophia,  and  the  lay  brother  Tichon.  Sophia  had  been  in 
the  wood  searching  for  a  young  calf  which  had  strayed ; 
Tichon  was  returning  from  a  distant  hermitage,  whither 
Cornelius  had  sent  him  with  a  letter.  They  had  met  by 
chance  at  the  crossing  of  the  two  paths,  late  at  night,  when 
the  gates  of  the  monastery  were  closed  ;  and  they  decided 
to  await  the  dawn  together  near  the  fire.  Sophia  watching 
the  flames  was  singing  in  a  low  voice  : — 

Christ  Himself,  the  blessed  King  of  Heaven, 

Speaks  to  us  His  children,  thus  : 

"  Let  not  yourselves  be  conquered 

By  the  seven-headed  snake,  the  Evil  One. 

Rather  ilee  and  hide  in  caves  and  mountains, 

Where  build  up  large  piles  of  faggots — 

Pour  burning  sulphur  over  them — 

And  burn  thereon  your  earthly  bodies 

For  your  glorious  faith  in  Me  ! 

Short  your  suffering,  My  beloved  ! 

To  reward  you  I  will  open 

All  my  Father's  Heavenly  Mansions ; 

I  will  take  you  into  Heaven, 

^^^lere  we  all  shall  dwell  together." 

"So  it  shall  be,  brother,"  concluded  the  young  girl, 
fixing  on  Tichon  a  long  steady  look,  "  he  who  will  be 
burned  shall  be  saved.  It  is  well  to  burn  for  the  love  of 
Christ !  " 


THE  RED  DEATH  417 

Tichon  remained  silent.  He  watched  the  moths  flutter- 
ing round  the  fire  till  they  perished  in  the  flames,  and 
remembered  Cornelius'  words  :  "  Like  gnats  and  midgets, 
the  more  you  try  to  kill  them  the  more  in  numbers  come  ! 
So  the  sons  of  Russia  shall  cast  themselves  by  thousands 
into  the  Red  Death  !  " 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  brother  ?  "  the  girl 
asked.  "  Are  you  afraid  of  the  furnace  ?  Courage  !  Despise 
it  !  fear  not  !  The  pain  won't  last  a  moment  !  and  quick  ! 
the  body  will  release  the  soul  !  The  fear  lasts  only  while 
waiting,  but  once  in  it  all  is  forgotten.  When  it  begins  to 
burn,  you  will  see  Christ,  with  legions  of  angels,  drawing 
the  soul  out  of  the  body ;  and  Christ  our  Hope  blesses  the 
soul,  endows  it  with  a  divine  power,  and  no  longer  heavy, 
but  as  on  wings,  it  flutters  about  with  the  angels,  hke  a 
bird,  rejoiced  to  have  escaped  its  prison  !  Long  it  had 
cried  unto  the  Lord  ;  '  Bring  my  soul  out  of  prison,  that  I 
may  praise  Thy  name.'  And  now  what  it  asked  for  has 
been  granted.  The  prison  is  burning  in  the  furnace,  and 
the  soul  like  a  pearl,  like  pure  gold,  is  soaring  up  to  the 
Lord  !  " 

Such  joy  shone  in  her  eyes,  that  she  might  have  been 
already  beholding  what  she  was  describing. 

"  Tichon,  Tichon  dear,  don't  you  wish  for  the  Red 
Death,  or  do  you  dread  it  ?  "  she  repeated  with  a  caressing 
whisper. 

"  I  am  afraid  to  do  wrong,  Sophia.  Surely  it  cannot  be 
God's  will  that  men  should  perish  so  ?  Are  you  certain 
that  it  is  not  the  lure  of  Satan  ?  " 

"  What  are  we  to  do,  then  ?  We  are  driven  to  it  by 
necessity  !  "  She  clasped  her  thin,  pale  hands,  the  hands 
of  a  child. 

"  We  cannot  escape,  we  cannot  hide  ourselves  from 
the  dragon,  neither  in  the  mountains  nor  in  caverns,  nor 
in  the  chasms  of  the  earth ;  he  hath  empoisoned  the  earth, 
the  water,  the  air.     Everything  is  denied,  and  accursed." 

The  night  was  still.  The  stars  shone  like  the  innocent 
eyes  of  children  ;  the  crescent  of  the  waning  moon  rested 
upon  the  black  tips  of  the  fir  trees.  The  soothing  cry  of 
the  night- jar  rose  through  the  mist  from  the  bog  below. 
The  pine  forest  exhaled  a  dry,  warm,  resinous  perfume. 

D  D 


4i8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Near  the  fire  a  lilac  harebell,  lit  up  by  the  red  glare  of  the 
flames,  bent  on  its  stalk  as  if  nodding  its  delicate,  drowsy 
little  head. 

The  moths  continued  to  flutter  round  the  fire  and  perish 
in  the  flames. 

Tichon  closed  his  eyes,  wearied  by  the  fire-glow.  He 
remembered  one  summer's  noon,  that  scent  of  the  pines, 
in  which  the  fresh  smell  of  apples  seemed  mingled  with  the 
aroma  of  myrrh ;  a  glade,  sunshine,  bees  buzzing  round 
clover,  snail-trefoil,  and  pink  silene  ;  in  the  middle  of  the 
fine  glade  stood  a  weather-beaten,  half  -  rotten,  wooden 
cross,  probably  indicating  the  last  resting-place  of  a  saintly 
hermit.  "  Fair  Mother  Solitude  " — he  began  to  repeat  his 
favourite  poem.  God  had  answered  his  prayers.  He 
had  brought  him  to  this  quiet  resting-place.  He  knelt, 
and  burying  his  head  in  the  tall  grass,  kissed  the  ground 
and  prayed  : — 

Oh,  wondrous  Queen,  Mother  of  God  ! 
Earth,  thou  bountiful  mother  of  all. 

and,  looking  up  towards  the  sky,  he  continued  : — 

Descend,  thou  glorious  Mother,  from  thy  hall. 
Thou  wondrous  Queen,  mother  of  God. 

The  earth  and  the  sky  had  become  one.  In  the  heavenly 
countenance,  radiant  as  the  sun,  the  countenance  of  the 
woman  with  glowing  eyes  and  fiery  wings,  Saint  Sophia,  the 
Wisdom  of  God,  he  saw  a  countenance  familiar  to  him  upon 
earth,  one  he  longed  yet  feared  to  recognize.  He  rose  and 
went  further  into  the  wood.  How  long  and  how  far  he 
no  longer  remembered.  At  last  he  saw  a  small  round 
lake ;  the  steep  banks  covered  with  firs  were  reflected  in 
the  water  like  one  uninterrrupted  green  wall.  The  water, 
thick  as  resin,  green  as  the  pine  needles,  was  so  still  it  was 
hardly  noticeable,  and  seemed  an  opening  into  Hades. 
On  a  stone,  close  to  the  water,  sat  the  young  novice  Sophia. 
He  recognized,  and  yet  saw  she  was  a  stranger.  She  had  a 
wreath  of  white  flowers  on  her  flowing  hair,  the  black  habit 
was  a  little  raised,  her  bare  white  feet  were  dipping  in  the 
water,  her  eyes  had  a  drunken  look  in  them.  And  gently 
swaying  to  and  fro,  looking  at  the  underground  kingdom 
of  the  water,  she  sang  a  gentle  song,  one  of  those  which 


THE  RED  DEATH  419 

are  sung  on   St.  John's  eve  at  the  old  revels  among  the 
bonfires : — 

Loved  sun,  so  fair  and  bright, 
Old.  old  Lado  !  Old,  old  Lado  ! 
Dear  flowers  bursting  in  the  night, 
Old,  old  Lado!  Cld,  old  Lado! 
Earth,  earth,  fertile  Mother  of  all. 

There  was  something  ancient  and  wild  in  this  song, 
which  recalled  the  sad  plaintive  notes  of  a  yellow-hammer 
in  the  lifeless  hush  of  noon  before  a  storm.  "  A  water 
nymph  !  "  thought  he,  daring  neither  to  move  nor  breathe. 
A  twig  snapped  under  his  foot,  The  young  girl  turned 
round,  shrieked,  jumped  off  the  stone  and  fled  back  to  the 
wood.  Nothing  remained  save  the  ever  widening  circles 
round  the  wreath  which  had  fallen  into  the  water.  He 
felt  terrified  as  if  he  had  really  witnessed  a  sylvan  apparition, 
an  infernal  mystery.  And  remembering  the  human  like- 
ness in  the  heavenly  countenance,  he  recognized  Sister 
Sophia,  and  the  prayer  to  the  "  Mother  of  all"  seemed  a 
mockery.  He  never  confided  to  anybody  what  he  had 
seen  near  the  Round  Lake,  but  the  vision  often  returned 
to  his  mind,  and  in  spite  of  all  his  struggles  against  this 
temptation  he  could  not  overcome  it  ;  at  times  even  in  his 
purest  prayers  he  would  see  the  human  face  as  it  were 
through   the   heavenly   countenance. 

And  now  Sophia,  continuing  to  look  at  the  flames  with  a 
fixed  and  wistful  gaze,  was  singing  about  St.  Cyros,  the 
child  martyr,  whom  the  infidel  king  Maximian  had  cast 
into  a  glowing  furnace. 

Fair  Cyros  in  the  furnace  stands. 
Chanting  the  song  of  cherubim. 
Green  grass  is  growing  at  his  feet, 
Bestarred  with  florets  blue  and  sweet. 
He  feels  no  fire,  but  with  them  plays, 
His  garment  like  the  sun  ablaze. 

Tichon  too  was  gazing  at  the  fire,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
he  recognized  the  song's  celestial  flowers  in  the  blue  heart 
of  the  flames.  Blue  as  the  sky  they  seemed  to  promise 
an  inexpressible  blessedness ;  yet  to  reach  that  heaven  the 
red  flame  had  to  be  passed  through. 

Suddenly  Sophia  turned  to  him,  laid  her  hand  on  his, 


420  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

brought  her  face  so  close  to  his  that  he  felt  her  breath 
come  and  go,  ardent  and  passionate,  like  a  kiss,  and  began 
to  whisper  in  a  persuasive  murmur  : — ■ 

"  Together,  together,  we  will  burn,  my  brother,  my 
beloved  !  Alone  I  fear  it ;  with  you  it  will  be  easy  !  To- 
gether we  will  go  to  the  marriage  feast  of  the  Lamb." 

She  repeated  with  infinite  tenderness  in  her  voice,  "  We 
will  burn,  we  will  burn  !  "  Across  her  pale  face,  and  in 
her  black  eyes,  which  reflected  the  glow  of  the  flames,  again 
there  flitted  that  ancient,  wild  expression,  which  he  had 
felt  in  her  song  near  the  Round  Lake. 

"  We  will  burn,  Sophia  !  "  he  murmured  with  terror. 
She  drew  him  as  the  flame  draws  a  moth. 

The  sound  of  footsteps  was  heard  on  the  path  which 
led  along  the  precipice  below. 

"  Jesus  Christ,  Son  of  God,  have  mercy  upon  us  sinners," 
said  a  voice. 

"  Amen,"   responded  Tichon   and   Sophia. 

The  newcomers  were  pilgrims.  They  had  lost  their 
way  in  the  wood,  and  narrowly  escaped  being  engulfed  in 
the  bog  ;  perceiving  the  light  of  the  fire,  they  had  after 
considerable  difficulty  found  their  way  to  it. 

They  sat  down  round  the  fire. 

"  Is  it  far  to  the  monastery,  friends  ?" 

"  'Tis  just  here  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,"  answered  Tichon, 
and  looking  steadfastly  at  the  woman  who  put  the  question, 
he  recognized  Vitalia,  the  same  who  led  the  life  of  a  migrant 
bird,  roaming,  flying  everywhere,  whom  he  had  met  two 
years  ago  in  Petersburg  on  the  oak-rafts  of  the  Tsarevitch 
Alexis,  on  the  night  of  the  Venus  festival.  She  too  recog- 
nized Tichon  and  was  delighted.  With  her  was  her  insepar- 
able companion  Kilikeja  the  possessed  ;  the  runaway  recruit 
Petka  Gisla,  whose  hand,  branded  with  the  government 
stamp,  the  mark  of  the  Beast,  had  withered  ;  and  the  old 
boatman.  Simple  John,  who.  waiting  for  Christ's  coming, 
sang  every  night  the  song  of  the  co'"fin-liers. 

"  Whence  come  ye.  Orthodox  folk  ?  "  asked  Sophia. 

"We  are  pilgrims,"  answered  Vitalia,  "we  wander 
everywhere,  persecuted  by  the  heretics  ;  we  have  no 
abiding  city,  we  are  waiting  for  the  New  Jerusalem.  We 
are  now  coming  from  Kerjensk.     Cruel  persecutions  are 


THE  RED  DEATH  421 

going  on  there  now.  Peterin,  the  fierce  wolf,  the  vampire 
of  the  church,  has  destroyed  seventy-seven  monasteries 
and  cast  out  the  holy  monks." 

They  began  telling  about  the  persecutions. 

One  old  father  had  been  flogged  in  three  torture  chambers, 
his  ribs  had  been  broken  with  iron  tongues,  he  was  dragged 
by  the  navel,  and  then  (it  was  a  very  cold  winter)  he  was 
stripped  and  ice-water  was  poured  over  him  until  icicles 
reached  from  his  beard  to  the  ground  ;  at  last  he  found 
death  in  the  flames. 

Others  were  tormented  in  iron  collars,  collars  which 
draw  head,  hands  and  feet  all  together  ;  with  the  result 
that  the  spine  and  the  limbs  were  dislocated,  and  blood 
spurted  from  the  mouth,  nose,  eyes  and  ears  of  the  martyrs. 

Others  were  forced  to  partake  of  the  Lord's  supper  by 
having  a  gag  put  into  their  mouths.  The  soldiers  dragged  a 
youth  to  church,  laid  him  on  the  bench,  the  priest  and 
deacon  approached  with  the  vessel.  He  was  held  down, 
his  mouth  was  opened  and  the  wine  poured  in.  He  spat 
it  out.  Then  the  deacon  dealt  him  such  a  blow  with  his 
fist,  that  his  lower  jaw  was  broken.  The  lad  died 
from  this  blow. 

One  woman  to  escape  the  persecutions  made  a  hole  in  the 
ice,  pushed  her  seven  small  children  under,  and  then 
drowned    herself. 

A  pious  husband  had  his  pregnant  wife  and  three  children 
baptized  and  killed  them  that  very  night  in  their  sleep. 
In  the  morning  he  came  to  the  authorities  and  said  : — 

"  I  was  the  executor  of  my  family,  you  will  be  my 
torturers  ;  they  suffered  from  me,  I  shall  suffer  from  you, 
and  together  we  martyrs  of  the  Old  Faith  will  be  in  heaven." 

Many  escaping  from  Antichrist  sought  death  in  th2 
flames. 

"  They  do  well.  This  self-immolation  is  acceptable  to 
the  Lord.  Even  God  cannot  save  those  who  fall  into  the 
hands  of  Antichrist.  The  pains  are  unbearable,  no  one 
can  resist  him.  Better  burn  here  than  be  cast  into  the 
eternal  flames,"  concluded  Vitalia.  "  Yes  ;  there  is  no 
means  of  escape  but  by  fire  or  water." 

The  stars  grew  dim.  Pale  streaks  appeared  among  the 
clouds  on  the  horizon.    Through  the  mist,  the  river  wind- 


422  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

ing  among  the  limitless  woods  glittered  like  dull  steel. 
On  the  river  bank  at  the  foot  of  the  precipice  the  monastery 
was  slowly  emerging  out  of  the  gloom.  It  was  surrounded 
by  a  palisade  which  gave  it  the  appearance  of  an  ancient 
wooden  fortress.  A  large  wooden  gateway,  surmounted 
by  the  image  of  Christ,  opened  upon  the  river.  Inside 
the  palisade  stood  a  group  of  buildings  with  raised  ground 
floors,  vestibules,  corridors,  closets,  attics,  summer  rooms, 
turrets,  watch  towers  with  narrow  windows  like  fortress 
barbicans,  and  steep  wooden  roofs.  Round  these  clustered 
a  smithy,  a  tailor's  shop,  a  tanyard,  a  cobbler's  shop,  a 
hospital,  a  school,  and  a  place  where  icons  were  painted. 
The  chapel,  dedicated  to  the  Virgin  of  Tolvooye,  was  also 
a  simple  building  of  logs,  only  larger  than  the  rest,  sur- 
mounted by  a  wooden  cross  and  a  shingled  dome  ;  near  it 
was  the  belfry  which  stood  out  black  against  the  pale 
sky. 

A  faint  plaintive  sound  came  floating  through  the  air ; 
this  was  the  summons  to  early  mass.  Instead  of  bells, 
knockers  were  used, — oak  boards  hung  on  ropes  made  of 
twisted  ox-sinews,  a  huge  three-sided  nail  being 
used  to  hammer  them.  Accord  to  tradition  Noah  had 
summoned  the  animals  to  the  ark  in  similar  fashion.  In 
the  responsive  silence  of  the  woods  the  sound  rang  sin- 
gularly sweet  and  sad. 

The  pilgrims,  looking  towards  the  holy  monastery,  last 
refuge  of  the  persecuted,  crossed  themselves. 

"  Holy,  Holy,  Holy  New  Jerusalem,  may  God's  glory 
descend  upon  thee,"  chanted  Kilikeja.  A  transfiguring 
joy  lit  up  her  pale,  waxen  face. 

"  All  the  monasteries  have  been  destroyed  ;  this  one  alone 
has  remained  untouched,"  remarked  Vitalia ;  "  the  Queen 
of  Heaven  has  evidently  taken  it  under  Her  holy  protection. 
It  is  written  in  Revelation  :  '  And  to  the  woman  were  given 
two  wings  of  a  great  eagle,  that  she  might  lly  into  the 
wilderness.'  " 

"  The  Tsar's  arm  is  long,  but  it  won't  reach  as  far  as 
this,"  said  one  of  the  pilgrims. 

"  This  is  the  last  refuge  of  ancient  holy  Russia,"  con- 
cluded another. 

The  sound  died  away,  all  remained  quiet.     It  was  the 


THE  RED  DEATH  423 

silent  hour,  when,  according  to  tradition,  the  waters 
remain  motionless,  the  angels  pray,  and  the  seraphim 
move  their  wings  in  holy  awe  before  the  throne  of  the 
Most  High. 

Simple  John,  sitting  with  his  arm  round  his  knees,  his 
motionless  eyes  fixed  on  the  brightening  east,  sang  his 
eternal  song  : — 

A  coffin  of  pinewood  tree 
Stands  ready  prepared  for  me, 
Within  its  narrow  wall 
I'll  await  the  judgment  call. 

And  again,  as  on  the  rafts  at  Petersburg  on  the  night 
of  the  Venus  festival,  the  talk  turned  upon  the  end  of  the 
world,  and  Antichrist  : 

"  Soon,  soon !  He  is  already  at  the  door,"  began 
Vitalia.  "  Now  we  just  manage  to  get  along;  but  when 
Antichrist  has  come  our  lips  will  be  sealed,  and  only  in  our 
hearts  shall  we  be  able  to  cling  to  God." 

"  It  is  terrible,  terrible,"  moaned  Kilikeja. 

"  I  have  heard,"  continued  Vitalia  Avilka,  "  a  runaway 
Cossock  from  the  Don,  relate  a  vision  he  had  in  the  steppe  : 
three  men  came  to  his  hut,  all  exactly  alike  in  countenance, 
they  spoke  Russian,  but  with  a  Greek  accent.  '  Whence 
come  ye,'  he  asked,  '  and  whither  do  ye  go  ?  '  '  From 
Jerusalem,'  they  answered,  '  and  from  the  Lord's  Sepulchre 
to  Petersburg,  to  see  the  Antichrist.'  '  What  Anti- 
christ ?  '  he  asked.  '  He  whom  you  call  Tsar  Peter  ; 
he  is  the  Antichrist.  He  will  conquer  Constantinople,  and 
collect  the  Jews  and  take  them  to  Jerusalem  where  he  will 
reign.  And  the  Jews  know  he  is  the  real  Antichrist. 
And  with  him  has  come  the  end  of  the  world.'  " 

Again  all  remained  silent,  as  though  in  expectation. 
All  at  once  from  the  dark  forest  there  came  a  long  cry,  like 
that  of  a  weeping  child  ;  it  probably  was  a  night-bird.  A 
tremor  passed  through  them. 

"  Friends,  friends,"  stuttered  Pctka,  his  voice  shaking 
with  gasps,  "  I  am  afraid.  We  speak  of  him,  the  Anti- 
christ, and  perhaps  he  is  here  in  the  wood  near  us  !  See 
how  we  all  are  troubled." 

"  Fools,  fools,  blockheads  !  "  suddenly  cried  a  voice 
like  the  angry  growl  of  a  bear.     They  turned  round  and 


424  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

saw  a  man  whom  they  had  not  noticed  before.  He  had 
probably  come  out  of  the  wood  while  they  were  talking, 
had  sat  down  on  one  side  in  the  shade,  and  had  remained 
silent.  He  was  a  tall  stooping  man,  with  grizzled  red 
hair.  His  face  could  hardly  be  discerned  in  the  morning 
twilight. 

"  The  Tsar  Peter  makes  a  poor  kind  of  Antichrist ;  he  is 
a  drunkard,  a  vagabond,  a  profligate,"  continued  the  old 
man  ;  "  a  pitiful  Antichrist !  The  Last  of  the  Devils  will 
go  about  his  work  differently ;  he  will  have  more  brain 
than  Peter." 

"  Abba,  Father,"  prayed  Vitalia,  trembling  with  fear 
and  curiosity,  "  enlighten  our  darkness  with  the  light  of 
truth.  Tell  us  everything  you  know  about  the  coming  of 
the   Son   of   Perdition." 

The  old  man  groaned  ;  at  last  after  considerable  difficulty 
he  succeeded  in  rising  to  his  feet.  There  was  something 
heavy,  awkward,  and  bearlike  in  his  whole  frame.  A  boy 
led  him  by  the  hand  up  to  the  fire.  Under  the  shrivelled 
touloupe  or  sheepskin  coat,  which  he  obviously  never  took 
off,  he  wore  two  stone  slabs  hung  on  iron  chains,  one  in 
front,  the  other  at  his  back.  He  had  an  iron  cap  on  his 
head,  round  his  loins  an  iron  belt,  somewhat  like  a  hoop, 
to  which  was  riveted  a  large  ring.  Tichon  remembered 
Capitone  the  Great,  a  saint  of  Mourom,  also  had  a  ring  like 
this  fastened  to  his  belt,  which  by  means  of  a  hook  in  the 
ceiling  was  all  his  rest.  He  used  to  sleep  hanging  by  a  rope 
from  the  hook. 

The  old  man  seated  himself  on  the  roots  of  a  pine  and 
turned  his  face  eastward.  In  place  of  eyes  he  had  two 
bleeding  wounds.  The  nails  which  studded  the  inside  of 
his  cap  had  entered  his  skull,  and  had  caused  him  to  go 
blind.  His  whole  face  was  terrible  to  look  at,  but  his 
smile  had  remained  tender  as  that  of  a  child. 

He  began  to  talk,  as  if  beholding  with  his  blind  eyes  what 
he  was  describing  : — 

"  Friends,  my  poor  friends,  what  has  frightened  you  ? 
He  himself  has  not  yet  come  ;  nothing  has  either  been  seen 
or  heard  of  him.  He  will  have  many  precursors  ;  there 
have  been,  are,  and  will  be  many.  They  are  smoothing 
his  way,  and  when  they  have  prepared  all  things  and 


THE  RED  DEATH  425 

removed  all  obstacles  then  he  himself  will  appear.  He 
will  be  born  of  an  unchaste  woman,  and  Satan  will  enter 
into  him  ;  and  the  Deceiver  will  in  all  things  be  like  unto 
the  Son  of  God  :  he  will  be  chaste,  meek,  gentle,  and  kind,  he 
will  heal  the  sick,  feed  the  hungry,  shelter  the  homeless, 
and  comfort  the  mourners.  There  will  come  to  him  those 
who  were  bidden  and  those  who  were  unbidden,  and  they  will 
make  him  ruler  over  all  nations.  And  he  will  collect  his 
forces  from  the  east  even  unto  the  west  ;  his  white  sails 
will  cover  the  sea,  his  black  shields  the  earth.  He  will 
say  :  I  will  gather  the  world  into  my  hand  like  a  nest,  and 
rob  it  as  I  would  steal  the  abandoned  eggs.  And  he  will 
do  great  wonders ;  move  the  hills,  walk  on  the  waves,  bring 
down  fire  from  heaven,  cause  devils  to  appear  like  angels 
of  light,  and  armies  of  numberless  spirits.  The  Prince  of 
Darkness,  radiant  as  the  sun,  will  rise  up  to  heaven  and 
descend  again  upon  the  earth  with  great  glory,  the  trumpets 
will  sound  and  much  crying  and  wondrous  singing  will  be 
heard.  And  he  will  sit  in  the  temple  of  God  saying  : 
'  I  am  God  ! '  and  the  people  will  bow  before  him  saying  : 
'  Thou  art  God  ;  there  is  none  other  God  but  thee  ! '  And 
the  abomination  of  desolation  will  stand  in  the  holy  place. 
And  then  earth  shall  wail  and  the  sea  lift  itself  up  in  sighing ; 
the  heavens  will  keep  back  their  dew  and  the  clouds  their 
rain  ;  the  sea  will  be  filled  with  gloom  and  stench,  the 
rivers  will  dry  up,  the  sources  be  exhausted,  and  people 
will  die  from  hunger  and  thirst.  And  they  will  come  unto 
the  Son  of  Perdition  and  say  :  '  Give  us  meat  and  drink,'  and 
he  will  mock  and  insult  them.  And  they  will  recognize 
that  he  is  the  Beast,  and  they  will  flee  from  his  sight,  yet 
no  place  will  give  them  shelter.  And  darkness  will  com- 
pass them  round.  Pangs  and  sorrows  shall  take  hold  of 
them.  Living  beings  will  look  like  the  dead  ;  women's 
beauty  will  fade  ;  man  shall  behold  them  without  emotion, 
and  man's  natural  force  will  abate.  Silver  and  gold  may 
be  scattered  in  the  markets,  yet  no  one  will  gather  it  up. 
Men  will  die  of  their  grief,  they  will  bite  their  tongues  and 
shall  blaspheme  the  living  God.  The  powers  of  the  heavens 
shall  be  shaken,  and  then  shall  appear  the  sign  of  the  Son 
of  Man  in  Heaven.  He  is  coming.  Even  so  !  Come,  Lord 
Jesus.     Amen,  Amen  !  " 


426  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

He  finished  and  turned  his  empty  orbits  towards  the  eas*, 
as  if  beholding  on  the  horizon,  in  the  towering  dark  clouds, 
steeped  with  blood  and  gold,  that  which  was  as  yet  with- 
held from  the  others.  The  fiery  streaks  unfurled  in  the 
sky  like  the  fiery  pinions  of  seraphim  prostrate  in  the  glory 
of  the  coming  Lord.  A  glowing  dazzling  ball  rose  over 
the  wall  of  the  dark  forest ;  its  rays,  split  by  the  pointed 
tips  of  the  black  firs,  sparkled  in  iridescent  hues.  The 
flames  of  the  fire  grew  dim  before  the  radiance  of  the  sun. 
The  earth,  the  sky,  the  waters,  leaves,  birds,  the  whole 
creation  together  with  the  heart  of  man  shouted  with 
great  joy,  "  Even  so  !  Come,  Lord  Jesus  !  " 

Tichon  experienced  his  old  familiar  feeling ;  the  fear  and 
the  joy  of  the  End. 

Sophia  crossed  herself  at  the  first  appearance  of  the  sun, 
invoking  the  baptism  of  fire,  the  eternal  sun,  the  Red 
Death.  But  Simple  John  alone  remained  sitting  as  before, 
his  arms  clasped  round  his  knees.  He  gently  swayed  to 
and  fro,  and  looking  towards  the  east,  the  dawn  of  day,  he 
sang  about  the  last  setting,  the  end  of  days  : — 

Ye  hollowed  oak-trunks,  ye  will  prove 
Fit  house  for  us  who  on  earth  do  move  ; 
Night  approacheth,  endeth  Day, 
And  Death  his  scythe  doth  lay 
To  the  root  of  all  that  live 


CHAPTER    IT 

A  MEETING  of  the  brethren  had  been  convoked  at 
the  monastery  to  discuss  Avakoum's  controversial 
epistles. 

The  zealous  priest  had  sent  to  his  friend  the  old  Monk 
Sergius  in  Kershenetz  a  letter  relating  to  the  Holy  Trinity, 
with  the  superscription  : — 

"  Receive,  Sergius,  this  eternal  Gospel,  written  not  by 
my  hand,  but  by  God's." 

He  asserted  that  the  substance  of  the  Holy  Trinity  is 
divided  into  three  co-equal  distinct  natures.  The  Father, 
the  Son  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  each  have  their  separate  place, 
sitting  on  three  thrones  as  three  heavenly  kings.  Christ 
sits  upon  a  fourth  throne,  apart,  co-regnant  with  the  Holy 
Trinity.  The  Son  of  God,  born  of  the  Virgin,  is  not 
hypostatized. 

The  deacon  Theodore  accused  Avakoum  of  heresy. 
Old  Onouphry,  the  disciple  of  Avakoum,  formulated  a 
similar  accusation  against  the  deacon  Theodore.  The 
followers  of  Theodore,  "  Con-substantialists,"  called  the 
followers  of  Onouphry  "'  Tri-substantialists,"  and  they  called 
each  other  liars.  A  schism  rose  ;  ardent  love  gave  way  to 
hatred  ;  the  monastery  was  invaded  by  lying  and  evil 
thoughts. 

To  end  these  discussions  a  meeting  had  been  called  at 
"  the  Banks  of  Mosses."  Old  Onouphry  being  dead,  his 
disciple  Father  Hierotheus,  now  the  head  and  teacher  of 
his  school,  was  summoned  to  defend  hmself. 

They  met  at  the  house  of  Mother  Golendoukha.  Her 
abode  was  outside  the  enclosure  of  the  monastery,  in  a 
clearing  in  the  midst  of  the  forest.     The   Onouphrians 


428  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

refused  to  enter  into  discussion  within  the  monastery, 
fearing  a  quarrel  which  might  end  badly  for  them,  their 
enemies  being  superior  to  them  in  numbers. 

Tichon  was  present  at  the  meeting.  Old  Cornelius  had 
stayed  away. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  talking,"  he  said.  "  We  must  burn. 
In  the  fire,  the  truth  will  be  revealed." 

The  abode  of  the  Golendoukha,  a  spacious  hut,  was 
divided  into  two  parts  ;  a  smaller  one  to  live  in  and  a  larger 
one  for  prayer.  All  round  on  the  log-built  walls  were 
shelves  on  which  were  placed  holy  icons,  sacred  lamps, 
and  candles  glimmering  before  them.  Woodcock  tail- 
feathers  were  hung  on  the  candlesticks  to  be  used  as 
extinguishers.  Benches  ran  along  the  walls.  Massive 
books,  bound  in  wood  or  leather,  with  brass  clasps,  and 
manuscripts,  the  oldest  treatises  of  the  great  masters  of 
the  desert,  written  on  papyrus,  lay  upon  the  benches. 

Though  it  was  noon  the  room  was  dark  and  oppressive. 
The  window  shutters  with  leaded  panes  of  dull  fish- 
bladder  v/ere  closed.  Only  through  the  chinks  here  and 
there  entered  shafts  of  light,  which  made  the  flames  of 
lamps  and  tapers  appear  red  and  dim.  The  air  was  satur- 
ated with  a  smell  of  wax,  leather,  sweat,  and  incense. 
Through  the  open  door  the  gloomy  woods  and  the  glade 
flooded  wiih  sunshine  were  visible. 

Monks  in  black  cassocks  and  hoods  thronged  round 
Father  Hiei'otheus,  who  stood  before  the  pulpit  in  the  centre 
of  the  chapel.  He  looked  sedate  and  well  fed,  with  a 
pasty  face,  white  as  the  holy  loaves  ;  his  blue  eyes,  slightly 
squinting,  la  1  different  expressions  ;  one  showed  Christian 
humility,  the  other  philosophic  presumption.  He  had  a 
persuasive  voice,  "  like  a  sweet-singing  ousel,"  folk  said. 
He  was  dressed  with  care ;  his  cassock  was  of  the  finest 
cloth,  he  wore  a  velvet  kaftan,  and  the  cross  on  his  breast 
was  set  with  rubies.  His  sandy  and  slightly  grey  hair 
exhaled  attar  of  roses.  Among  the  shabby  monks  and 
moujiks  from  the  forest,  he  appeared  as  a  real  boyar  or  a 
Niconian  bishop. 

Father  Hierotheus  was  a  learned  man  ;  he  had  absorbed 
knowledge  from  books  as  a  sponge  absorbs  water.  But 
his  enemies  affirmed  that  his  wisdom  was  not  from  God  ; 


THE  RED  DEATH  429 

they  said  he  had  two  doctrines  :  the  one  orthodox,  which 
he  proclaimed  for  all ;  the  other  heretical  and  secret, 
which  he  revealed  only  to  the  elect — for  the  most  part  to 
the  rich  and  noble.  Simple  and  poor  folk  he  attracted  by 
munificent    alms. 

From  dawn  till  noon  the  dispute  ran  high,  but  with  no 
results.  Father  Hierotheus  always  managed  to  avoid 
committing  himself.  Much  as  the  monks  tried  they  could 
not  convict  him. 

At  last,  in  the  heat  of  the  controversy,  a  disciple  of 
Father  Hierotheus,  Brother  Spiridon,  a  quick-eyed,  dark 
little  man  with  temples  in  curls,  like  Jewish  ringlets, 
suddenly  sprang  forward  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  :— 

"  The  Trinity  sit  together,  the  Son  on  the  right,  the  Holy 
Spirit  on  the  left  of  the  Father.  On  separate  thrones 
without  confounding  themselves,  sit  the  three  Heavenly 
Kings,  while  Christ  sits  on  a  fourth  apart  from  them  !  " 

"  You  split  the  Trinity  into  four,"  cried  the  terrified 
monks. 

"  And  you  make  one  lump  of  it,  one  single  Person  ! 
The  Trinity  is  not  one,  but  th^ee  !  three  !  three  !  "  roared 
Father  Spiridon,  thrusting  up  his  hands  as  thourh  he  were 
felling  with  an  axe.  "Believe  in  the  three-fold  Trinity ! 
Without  fear  divide  the  Indivisible,  the  one  into  three  ; 
Christ  makes  a  fourth." 

And  he  went  on  explaining  the  difference  between 
essence  and  substance.  The  substance  of  the  Son  is 
within,  the  essence  sits  at  the  Father's  feet. 

"  God  became  Man  not  by  His  substance,  but  alone  by 
His  essence.  Had  he  come  down  in  His  substance  He  would 
have  scorched  the  universe,  and  the  womb  of  the  Pure 
Mother  could  not  have  borne  the  wholeness  of  God ;  it 
would  have  been  consumed." 

"  Oh,  erring,  worldly  brother!  "  supplicated  the  fathers, 
"  listen  to  your  conscience,  apprehend  God.  Cast  out  from 
yourself  the  root  of  heresy,  go  no  further.  Repent, 
beloved  brother  !  "  the  monks  implored  him,  "  Who  told 
you  this  thing,  and  where  did  you  see  whether  the  three 
Heavenly  Kings  sit  separate  and  not  confounding  them- 
selves ?     Neither   the    angels    nor    the    archangels    can 


430  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

see  Him,  yet  you  say,  '  They  sit  not  confounding  the 
persons.'  Why  was  your  tongue  not  burnt  for  saying 
this  ?  " 

But  Spiridon  continued  to  shout  : 

"  Three,  three,  three!  I  will  die  for  my  belief;  even  fire 
could  not  burn  it  from  my  soul." 

Seeing  they  could  do  nothing  with  him,  the  monks 
returned  to  Father  Hierotheus, 

"  Be  straightforward  !  tell  us  plainly  what  do  you  believe 
in  !  The  Trinity  in  Unity  or  the  Trinity  in  three  distinct 
persons  ?  " 

Father  Hierotheus  remained  silent  and  smiled  disdain- 
fully. It  was  evident  that  from  the  height  of  his  learning 
he  looked  down  upon  these  simple-minded  men,  these 
beggars,  with  utter  contempt. 

But  the  monks — like  gnats — assailed  him  and  more 
insistently. 

"  Why  don't  you  reply  ?  are  you  deaf  ?  Like  the  slate- 
coloured  dragon,  you  have  stopped  up  your  ears  to  the 
counsels  of  the  ancient  Church  !  " 

"  He  has  hardened  his  heart  like  a  Pharaoh  !  " 

"  You  do  not  seek  to  live  peaceably  with  us  monks, 
you  think  yourself  too  far  above  us.  You  have  broken 
the  law  of  love." 

"  Rebel  !     Tempter  of  Christians  !  " 

"  Back  !  What  do  you  want  of  me  !  "  Father  Hiero- 
theus at  last  burst  out,  his  patience  exhausted,  receding 
imperceptibly  towards  the  door.  "  Don't  press  me  !  You 
will  not  be  called  to  account  for  my  opinions.  Whether  I 
shall  be  saved  or  no,  what  matter  is  it  to  you  ?  You  live 
by  your  lights,  we  live  by  ours  ;  we  have  nothing  in  com- 
mon.    I  pray  you  let  me  alone." 

Father  Provost,  an  old  man,  hoary,  thick-built  and 
muscular,  brandished  his  knotty  staff  in  the  face  of  Father 
Hierotheus  : 

"  Mad  heretic  !  when  the  judge  pummels  you  with  a 
stick  like  this,  you  will  soon  decide  which  is  your  faith  ;  the 
Trinity  in  Unity  or  the  Trinity  in  (h"ee  distinct  persons." 

"  Peace  be  with  you,  my  brethren  in  Christ  !  "  said  a 
gentle  voice,  so  unlike  the  others  that  every  one  heard  it. 
It  was  Father  Missail,  a  hermit,  who  had  come  from  a 


THE  RED  DEATH  431 

distant  desert,  a  great  saint,  "  young  in  years  but  old  in 
wisdom." 

"  What  are  you  about,  beloved  fathers  ?  Is  it  not  the 
devil  who  rouses  and  fills  us  with  hatred  against  our 
brethren  ?  And  nobody  seeks  the  waters  of  life  to  quell 
Satan's  fire,  only  pitch  and  dry  sticks  to  feed  it.  Verily, 
brethren,  I  have  never  seen  such  hate,  even  among  the 
Niconians  !  If  they  get  to  know  about  this  and  begin  to 
persecute  us  again,  they  will  no  longer  sin  before  God,  and 
the  tortures  they  will  inflict  upon  us  will  be  but  the  be- 
ginning of  the  eternal  torments." 

All  suddenly  were  hushed  as  if  awakening  to  reality. 

Father  Missail  knelt  and  bowed  first  to  the  whole 
assembly,  then  to  Father  Hierotheus. 

"  Forgive  me,  brethren  !  Forgive  me,  beloved  brother! 
Great  is  your  learning  ;  you  have  a  fiery  spirit,  have  mercy 
upon  us  simple-minded  folk,  and  put  aside  these  literary 
controversies,  for  the  sake  of  charity  !  " 

He  rose  and  was  going  to  embrace  Hierotheus.  But 
the  latter  forestalled  him,  and  fell  down  on  his  knees  before 
Father  Missail. 

"  Pardon  me,  father  !  Who  am  I  ?  A  dead  dog.  How 
can  I  know  more  than  your  Holy  Assembly  ?  You  say 
I  have  a  fiery  spirit.  You  make  my  soul  vain.  I,  a  man, 
am  like  the  frogs  which  dwell  in  the  marshes.  I  fill  my 
belly  like  a  pig.  But  for  the  Lord's  help  my  soul  would 
go  to  hell.  I  can  hardly  breathe  under  the  passions  which 
oppress  me.  Oh  !  sinner  that  I  am  !  And  you,  Missail  ! 
may  God  bless  you  for  your  words  !  " 

Father  Missail  with  a  gentle  smile  again  stretched  out 
his  arms  to  embrace  Father  Hierotheus.  But  the  latter 
rose  and  repulsed  him,  with  an  expression  of  such  anger 
and  pride  on  his  face  that  all  were  alarmed. 

"  God  reward  you  for  your  admonition  of  me,"  he  con- 
tinued in  a  voice  suddenly  changed  and  vibrating  with 
fury  :  "  for  instructing  and  exhorting  us  poor  ignorant  folk  ! 
But  it  were  as  well,  friend,  to  know  the  measure  of  your 
strength.  You  soar  high ;  may  you  never  come  toppling 
to  the  ground  !  Who  made  yon  a  teacher  ?  W'ho  made 
you  a  master  ?  Nowadays  every  one  teaches,  and  there 
is  no  one  left  willing  to  be  taught.     W^oe  unto  us  who  live 


432  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

in  this  evil  time  !  You  are  but  a  child,  and  yet  you  pre- 
sume much.  Really,  we  have  no  desire  to  listen  to  you. 
Teach  them  who  are  contented  with  such  teaching,  but 
keep  off  us,  if  you  please.  Fine  teachers  truly  !  One 
threatens  us  with  his  stick,  the  other  tries  to  smooth 
matters  over  by  '  love ' !  What  is  the  good  of  '  love ' 
if  based  on  the  ruins  of  truth  ?  Even  Satan  loves  his 
faithful.  As  for  us,  we  love  Ch^-ist,  and  hate  His  enemies. 
Rather  death,  than  union  with  impious  apostates !  I 
am  innocent,  and  the  very  dust  of  this  place  on  my  feet 
I  shake  off  before  you,  for  it  is  written,  '  Better  one  who 
doeth  the  will  of  the  Father  than  a  multitude  of  sinners.'  " 
And  taking  advantage  of  the  general  confusion.  Father 
Hierotheus,  protected  by  his  acolytes,  swiftly  passed  out. 
Father  Missail  went  apart  and  began  to  pray  in  a  low 
voice,  repeating  again  and  again  :    "  Calamity  t^ireatens  ! 

Calamity  threatens  !     Shield  us,  Holy  Virgin  ! " 

But  the  monks  began  to  shout  and  quarrel  more  wildly 
than  before. 

"  Spiridon,  you  infidel,  listen  :  the  Son  sits  on  a  throne 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father  !  "  "  Well,  that  is  right, 
leave  him  there  !  "  "No,  he  drags  the  Son  off  the  throne, 
and  puts  him  down  at  His  Father's  feet  !  " 

"  Cursed,  cursed,  cursed.  Anathema  !  If  an  angel  reveal 
what  is  not  in  the  Scriptures  let  him  be  anathema  !  " 

"  You  ignoramuses  !  You  know  not  how  to  discuss  the 
Scriptures  !  What  is  the  good  of  wasting  time  or  argu- 
ment on  you,  village  blockheads  !  " 

"  God  has  blinded  you  for  standing  up  against  Truth  ! 
Curse  you,  may  you  perish  !  " 

"  May  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  you,  either  in  this 
world,  or  the  next  !  " 

All  spoke  together,  and  no  one  listened.  Now  not  only 
those  who  believed  in  the  Unity  of  the  Trinity  disputed 
fiercely  with  those  v  ho  believed  in  the  three  distinct  Persons, 
but  brethren  of  the  same  persuasion  were  ready  to  shout 
themselves  hoarse  over  mere  nothings  :  the  swinging 
of  the  thurifer  in  the  shape  of  a  cross  ;  the  eating  of  garlic 
on  Annunciation-day,  the  crossing  of  the  legs  during 
concession.  Babel  was  let  loose.  Every  comma  and  iota 
in  the  old  books  roused  wrathful  disputations. 


THE  RED  DEATH  433 

"  May  not  a  little  fault  in  copying  engender  a  great 
heresy  ?  " 

"  We  will  die  for  one  letter  !  " 

"  Learn  what  is  written  in  the  old  books,  and  repeat  the 
Lord's  prayer  unceasingly,  this  is  all  that  is  required." 

"  Theodore,  God's  enemy,  thou  dog  of  Hell !  distinguish 
the  Lord's  cross  from  that  of  Peter." 

"  Christ's  cross  hath  a  foot-stock  !  "  Brother  Julian  tried 
to  prove  with  a  hoarse  voice  (he  was  the  Reader  at  "  Bank 
of  Mosses."  Usually  quiet  and  meek,  he  now  raged 
like  a  madman,  with  foam  in  his  mouth,  swollen  veins  on 
his  temples,  and  bloodshot  eyes. 

Father  Trophilius,  another  Reader,  came  to  his  help. 
He  jumped  up,  like  a  flying-fish  out  of  the  water  ;  his  neck 
was  stiff  as  a  rod,  h.2  quaked  and  trembled  from  excessive 
zeal,  his  teeth  chattered  ;  his  voice  was  like  that  of  an 
infuriated  camel,  terrible,  untameable  in  its  passion. 

He  was  no  longer  trying  to  prove  anything,  he  only  used 
bad  language  and  got  the  same  in  return.  They  had  begun 
with  theology,  they  ended  with  mere  scurrility. 

"  Satan  has  set  up  his  house  inside  you." 

"  You  black  scamp,  you  have  sold  your  soul  for  a  bottle 
of  brandy  !  " 

"  Erring  beasts  !  " 

"  Listen,  hark  ye  about  the  Trinity  !  " 

"  What  is  there  worth  listening  to  ?  It  is  impossible 
to  make  out  your  meaning.  It  is  like  mat-weaving  when  the 
ends  have  got  lost." 

"  I  proclaim  heavenly  mysteries,  I  am  inspired ! " 

"  Stop  your  rubbishy  ravings  !  " 

"  Cursed,  cursed.  Anathema  !  " 

This  council  of  peasants  in  the  forest  of  the  Vetlonga 
resembled  in  many  respects  the  Council  of  the  Churches 
held  at  the  Imperial  Court  of  Byzantium  in  the  time  of 
Julian  the  Apostate,  fourteen  centuries  before. 

Tichon  watched  and  listened.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
these  were  not  men  who  were  discussing  about  God,  but 
beasts  w  ho  sought  to  devour  one  another.  The  peace  of  his 
beloved  desert  had  been  destroyed  for  ever. 

Voices  were  heard  from  outside  the  windows.  Mother 
Golendoukha,  Mothers  Merope  and  Onleya  looked  out  and 

E  E 


434  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

saw  that  a  crowd  was  coming  out  from  the  wood  beside 
the  monastery.  It  was  then  remembered  that  during  a 
rehgious  dispute  at  Kerjenetz  how  some  laymen,  labourers 
and  boatmen  who  had  been  bribed,  came  to  the  hut  where 
the  meeting  was  held,  and  fell  upon  the  monks  with  pitch- 
forks, clubs  and  axes. 

Fearing  lest  something  similar  might  happen  now,  the 
women  rushed  into  the  chapel,  and  bolted  the  door  with  the 
strong  oaken  bolts,  just  as  the  crowd  was  already  knocking 
and  calling  out  : — 

"  Open  !  open  !  " 

They  shouted  something  else  besides,  but  Mother  Golen- 
doukha,  who  had  assumed  the  command,  was  a  litttle  deaf 
and  could  not  hear  ;  the  rest  of  the  women  ran  hither  and 
thither,  cackling  like  scared  hens.  They  were  also  pre- 
vented from  hearing  by  the  shouts  inside  the  chapel,  where 
the  monks,  oblivious  of  what  went  on  around  them,  con- 
tinued quarrelling. 

Father  Spiridon  was  declaring  that  Christ  had  entered 
the  Virgin  through  her  ear,  and  had  come  out  inexplicably 
through  her  ribs. 

Father  Trifily  spat  in  his  face.  Then  Spiridon  caught 
hold  of  Father  Trifily's  beard,  pulled  off  his  hood,  and  was 
going  to  strike  his  bald  head  with  a  brass  cross,  when  Father 
Provost  knocked  the  cross  out  of  his  hand  with  a  club. 

An  Onouphrian  Reader,  the  sturdy  young  fellow  Arhipka, 
rushed  at  Father  Provost  and  dealt  him  such  a  blow  on  the 
temples  with  his  fist  that  the  old  man  fell  down  unconscious. 
A  battle  royal  began.  The  monks  appeared  to  be  possessed 
by  demons.  In  the  suffocating  gloom,  scarcely  lit  up 
by  the  dim  light  of  the  holy  lamps  and  shafts  of  sunlight, 
fearful  faces  rushed  to  and  fro ;  the  fight  was  carried  on 
with  clenched  fists,  leather  straps,  rosaries,  torn  books, 
leaden  candlesticks  and  burning  candles  ;  bad  language, 
scoffs,  moans,  and  groans,  howls  and  shrieks  resounded  in 
the  air. 

Meanwhile  from  without  the  knocks  continued,  with 
shouts : — 

"  Open  !  open  !  " 

Th2  wooden  wall  trembled  under  the  blows  ;  one  of 
the  shutters  was  hewn  off. 


THE  RED  DEATH  435 

Mother  Ouleja,  puffy  and  pale  as  paste,  sank  down  on  the 
floor,  and  began  to  shriek  so  piercingly  that  all  were 
frightened. 

The  other  shutter  cracked  and  gave  way ;  through  the 
■  burst  fish-skin  pane  appeared  the  head  of  Father  Minos, 
harness-maker  to  the  monastery  ;   his  eyes  were  protruding 
as  he  shouted  : — 

"  The  soldiers,  the  soldiers  are  coming  !  You  fools,  what 
did  you  lock  yourselves  up  for  !     Come  out,  be  quick  !  " 

All  grew  dumb.  The  fists  raised,  or  the  fingers  clutching 
the  hair  of  an  adversary,  remained  suspended,  petrified. 

Dead  silence  ensued.  Only  Father  Missail  went  on 
wailing  a  d  praying.  "  Calamity  has  come  upon  us  ! 
Mother  of  God,  be  gracious  unto  us !  " 

Coming  to  their  senses  they  rushed  to  the  door,  opened  it 
and  ran  out. 

From  the  crowd,  which  had  collected  in  the  clearing, 
they  learnt  the  terrible  news  :  soldiers  with  priests  and 
clerks,  were  making  their  way  through  fhe  forest.  They 
had  already  destroyed  the  neighbouring  monastery,  and 
to-day  or  to-morrow  they  might  appear  at  "  the  Bank 
of  Mosses." 


CHAPTER    III 

TICHON  saw  Father  Cornelius  surrounded  by  a  number 
of  hermits,  peasants  and  children  from  the  neigh- 
bouring villages.  "  Lose  no  time,  O  faithful  ones  !  " 
exhorted  the  monk,  "  bravely  thrust  yourselves  into  the 
fire.  Suffer  for  the  Lord's  sake  !  Leap  into  the  flames. 
'  Here,  devil  !  take  my  body,  you  have  nothing  to  do  with 
my  soul  !  '  Now  our  persecutors  bring  us  fire  and  wood, 
earth  and  axe,  knife  and  gallows  ;  but  there  in  heaven 
angelic  songs  and  praise  and  joy  are  awaiting  us.  When  our 
bodies  shall  be  brought  to  life  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  then  shall 
we  come  forth  from  the  earth,  like  children  from  their 
mother's  womb.  Prophets  and  Patriarchs,  none  will  be  freed 
from  trial,  all  have  to  pass  the  river  of  fire,  only  we  shall  be 
free  ;  we  shall  have  burned  here.  We  shall  be  purged  because 
we  enter  the  flames  of  our  own  free  will.  We  shall  burn 
like  candles,  a  sacrifice  to  God  !  We  shall  bake  like  sweet 
bread  for  the  Holy  Trinity.  We  will  die  for  the  love  of 
the  Son  of  God.  More  radiant  than  the  sun  is  the  Red 
Death !  " 

"  Rather  burn,  than  fall  into  the  hands  of  Antichrist!" 
shouted  the  frenzied  crowd. 

The  women's  and  children's  cries  rose  even  above  the 
men's. 

"  Run,  run  into  the  flames  ;  let  us  burn  !  Flee  from 
the    tormentors  !  " 

"  Now  the  monasteries  are  burning,"  continued  the 
monk,  "  but  after  awhile  villages  and  towns  will  kindle 
in  their  turn.  I  would  have  loved  to  set  Nijni  on  fire  my- 
self ;  I  would  rejoice  to  see  it  burn  from  end  to  end.  One 
day  the  whole  of  Russia  will  burn  with  us  !  " 

136 


THE  RED  lEATH  437 

His  eyes  glowed  with  a  strange  light.  They  reflected 
that  last  tire  which  shall  destroy  the  world. 

When  he  had  finished  the  crowd  dispersed  over  the  glade 
and  in  the  outskirts  of  the  wood. 

Tichon  for  some  time  kept  wandering  about  the  groups, 
listening  to  what  was  said.    He  believed  all  were  going  mad. 

One  peasant  said  to  another  : — ■ 

"  The  kingdom  of  heaven  itself  is  falling  into  your  lap,  and 
you  hesitate.  Your  children  are  small,  your  wife  young, 
you  love  them,  you  do  not  desire  to  perish,  but  how  do  you 
enjoy  life  with  them  ?  A  sack,  a  pot,  and  bast  shoes  is 
your  little  all.  Even  your  wife  herself  yearns  for  the 
martyr's  fire  ;  and  you,  a  man,  are  more  foolish  than 
a  woman  ?  Suppose  you  live  to  marry  your  children  and 
to  console  your  wife  !  What  then  ?  What  else  but  the 
grave  ?     Whether  you  burn  or  no,  die  you  must  one  day." 

A  monk  was  persuading  another  monk  :  "  Expiation  for 
our  sins  is  slow  and  wearisome — ten  years  '  public  penance, 
endless  fasts  and  prayers  !  Enter  now  the  flamics  ;  and 
there  is  an  end  to  your  penance  !  neither  work,  nor 
fasting  one  hour  will  bring  you  to  heaven.  The  fire  will 
purge  away  all  sins.     Once  burnt  you  are  free  from  all  !  " 

One  old  man  was  calling  to  another : — 

"  Come,  friend,  you  have  lived  long  enough.  It  is  time 
to  go  into  the  other  world,  even  if  only  as  the  lowliest  of 
martyrs." 

The  lads  playfully  said  to  the  girls  : — 

"  Come  into  the  fire  !  In  the  other  world  we  shall  have  gol- 
den dresses  and  red  boots,  nuts,  honey  and  apples  in  plenty." 

"  It  will  be  well  for  the  young  children  to  burn,"  said  the 
monks;  "they  will  avoid  sinning,  marrying  and  having 
children  ;  their  purity  will  remain  uncorrupted  !  " 

Others  spoke  of  the  great  burnings  in  ancient  days  ; 
of  how,  in  the  Paleostrovsky  Monastery,  where  two  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  people  had  burnt  themselves  together 
with  the  old  monk  Ignatius,  a  miracle  had  taken  place. 
When  the  church  took  fire,  after  the  thick  smoke  had  gone 
off.  Father  Ignatius,  cross  in  hand,  rose  through  the  cupola, 
followed  by  all  the  other  monks  and  a  multitude  of  people 
in  shining  garments  and  great  glory.  They  went  up  the 
road  to  heaven,  and  passing  the  gates,  disappeared. 


438  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

And  another  recounted  how  in  the  Poodoyhski  church- 
yard, where  nineteen  hundred  and  twenty  persons  were 
burnt,  the  soldiers  on  guard  saw  a  luminous  pillar  descend 
from  heaven,  many-hued  like  a  rainbow  ;  three  men  in 
cassocks,  radiant  as  the  sun,  came  down  from  it  and  went 
round  the  place  three  times  ;  one  blessed  it  with  the  croiS, 
the  other  sprinked  it  with  holy  water,  the  third  swung  the 
censer.  Then  they  entered  the  pillar  again  and  ascended 
into  heaven.  After  this,  on  the  eves  of  special  festivals, 
manv  believers  saw  at  that  same  place  wax  candles  light 
thernselves  and  heard  ineffable  singing. 

A  peasant  of  Pomone  said  he  had  himself  had  yet  another 
vision  .  He  had  lain  unconscious  in  a  fever  and  suddenly  saw 
a  moving  wheel  of  fire,  and  on  that  wheel  tortured  men  were 
wailing  :  "  Here  are  those  who  refused  to  burn  themselves, 
but  live  after  the  flesh  and  served  Antichrist.  Go  thou  and 
preach  self-burning  to  all  people."  A  drop  fell  upon  his 
lip  from  the  wheel  ;  he  awoke,  his  lip  had  inflamed. 
Then  he  preached  to  the  people  :  "  It  is  good  to  burn  alive  ; 
this  sign  on  my  lip  is  the  stigma  made  by  the  dead  who 
refused  to  burn." 

Then  the  woman  Kilikeja  sitting  on  the  grass  sang  about 
the  wife  of  Alleluja.  When  the  Jews,  sent  by  Herod, 
sought  to  kill  the  child  Jesus,  the  wife  of  Alleluja  hid  him 
and  threw  her  own  child  into  the  furnace  instead. 

Then  spake  Christ,  the  heavenly  King  : 

Glory  to  thee,  merciful  wife  of  Alleluja, 

Go,  tell  My  will  to  all  My  faithful  ones  ! 

Let  them  throw  themselves  into  the  fire  for  love  of  Me  ! 

Let  them  cast  in  also  their  innocent  children. 

Nevertheless  here  and  there  voices  against  self-burning 
could  be  heard. 

"  Dearly  beloved  brethren,"  entreated  Father  Missail, 
"  it  is  well  to  be  zealous  for  the  Lord,  yet  there  should  be  a 
measure  in  all  things  !  Self-immolation  is  not  acceptable 
before  God.  Christ's  is  the  only  way.  Let  those  who  can, 
flee  ;  those  who  are  taken  must  suffer.  But  do  not  seek 
out  death  intentionally.  Calm  down  your  terrors,  my  poor 
children  !  " 

The  frantic  Fath'^r  Triphilius  agreed  with  the  meek 
Father  Missail. 


THE  RED  DEATH  439 

"  We  are  not  mere  brands  for  burning,  to  no  purpose. 
Are  you  going  to  troop  together,  like  pigs  in  a  sty ; 
and  then  set  yourselves  on  fire  ?  " 

"  What  ignorance  !  "  Father  Hieropheus  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  in  sheer  disdain  for  the  doctrine  and  martyr- 
ization. 

Moreover,  Mother  Golendoukha,  who  had  already 
sought  death  once  in  the  flames,  but  had  been  pulled  out  in 
time,  purposely  terrified  everybody  with  her  description  : 
how  the  bodies  are  contorted  in  the  flames,  head  and  legs 
shrink  together  and  the  blood  boils  and  foams  like  food  in 
a  pot  ;  and  how  after  the  fire  the  bodies  lay  about,  bloated 
and  baked,  smelling  like  roast  meat.  Some  had  remained 
whole,  yet  at  a  touch  fell  to  pieces  ;  dogs  roamed  about, 
with  muzzles  grimed  with  smoke,  eating  the  corpses.  A 
horrid  stench  spread  around ;  none  could  pass  by  without 
holding  his  nose.  At  the  time  of  the  burning  two  black 
devils  with  bats'  wings  appeared  above  the  flames, 
rejoicing,  clapping  their  hands  and  crying,  "  These 
are  ours  !  "  And  for  many  years  on  that  spot  voices 
were  heard  at  night  lamenting,  "  We  are  lost,  lost  !  " 

Finally  the  opponents  of  self-burning  approached  Corne- 
lius triumphantly  :  "  Why  did  you  not  burn  yourself  ? 
If  it  is  as  righteous  as  you  say,  you  teachers  ought  to  set  the 
example.  But  no  !  You  persuade  poor  novices  into  the 
fire.  You  are  all  alike,  you  teachers  of  self-burning.  You 
praise  it  for  others,  not  for  yourselves.  Are  you  not  afraid 
of  God's  wrath  ?  You  have  burnt  enough  human  beings, 
spare  the  remainder." 

Then,  stung  by  the  taunt,  and  at  a  sign  from  the  old  monk, 
Kirukha,  a  frantic  adherent  came  forward.  He  brandished 
his  axe,  and  called  out  in  a  loud  voice  : — 

"  He  who  is  against  self-burning  let  him  come  out  with 
his  axe,  we  two  will  fight  it  out !  A  trial  by  combat !  If 
I  am  killed,  the  burning  is  not  acceptable  before  God ; 
should  I  kill,  then — all  we — on  to  the  flames  !  " 

Nobody  accepted  the  challenge. 

Then  old  Cornelius,  coming  forward,  said,  "  All  those 
for  burning  stand  forth  to  the  right ;  against,  to  the  left  !  " 

The  crowd  divided.  One  part  surrounded  the  old  monk, 
the  other  stood  aside.     Those  who  desired  to  be    burnt 


440  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

numbered  about  eighty  ;    those  who  refused  about  a  hun- 
dred. 

The  oM  man  lifted  his  pectoral  cross  and  blessed  those 
who  had  chosen  the  burning  with  the  sign  of  it,  and  lift- 
ing his  eyes  to  heaven  prayed  in  a  solemn  voice  :  "  For 
Thy  sake,  O  Lord,  and  Thy  faith,  for  the  Love  of  God's 
only  begotten  Son,  we  die.  We  do  not  spare  ourselves. 
We  return  our  souls  to  Thee.  Joyfully  we  accept  this 
second  baptism  by  fire  that  we  may  not  lose  our  faith  ; 
we  seek  the  flames  for  the  hate  of  Antichrist,  dying  for  the 
love  of  Thee." 

"  Burn,  burn,  begin,"  the  frenzied  crowd  again  shouted. 
Tichon  felt  that  he  also  would  lose  his  senses  if  he  stayed 
any  longer  among  this  maddened  crowd. 

He  fled  into  the  forest.  He  ran  till  he  could  no  longer 
hear  the  shouting.  A  narrow  path  brought  him  to  the 
glade  grown  with  high  grass  and  surrounded  with  impene- 
trable pines,  where  he  had  once  prayed  to  the  "  Fertile 
Mother  Earth." 

The  evening  glow  was  dying  away  on  the  tree  tops. 
Golden  cloudlets  floated  over  the  sky.  The  thicket  ex- 
haled a  fresh  resinous  perfume.     The  stillness  was  intense. 

He  threw  himself  on  the  ground,  buried  his  head  in  the 
grass,  and  again,  as  on  that  day  near  the  Round  Lake,  he 
kissed  the  earth  and  prayed  to  her  as  if  he  knew  that  she 
alone  could  save  him  from  this  fiery  delirium  of  the  Red 
Death  :— 

Wondrous  Queen,  Mother  of  God, 
Earth,  thou  fertile  Mother  of  all  !  .  .  . 

Suddenly  he  felt  a  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder  ;  he  turned 
round  and  saw  it  was  Sophia. 

She  was  bending  over  him  ,and  regarding  him  silently, 
intently.  He  too  remained  silent,  and  looked  up  at  her. 
The  young  girl's  face  under  the  black  shawl  stood  out 
against  the  gold  and  azure  sky  like  the  icon  of  a  saint 
upon  the  golden  background.  Pale,  with  lips  red  and 
fresh,  like  a  newly  opened  flower,  with  innocent  eyes, 
deep  as  ih^  lake,  her  face  was  so  beautiful  that  his  heart 
stopped  beating  as  in  sudden  fright. 

"  So  you  are  here,  brother  !  "  she  said  at  last.  "And 
Cornelius    searching    for    you    everywhere  cannot   think 


THE  RED  DEATH  441 

whither  you  have  disappeared.  Come  up  !  Let  us  go. 
Be  quick  !  " 

She  was  excited,  joyous,  as  if  great  happiness  had  be- 
fallen her. 

"  No,  Sophia,"  he  said  in  a  calm  firm  voice,  "  I  will  not 
return  there  again.  Really,  I  have  had  enough  of  it  ;  I  have 
seen  and  heard  sufficient.  I  shall  leave  the  monastery  for 
good." 

"  And  you  will  not  endure  martyrdom  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  will  go  without  me  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  entreatingly. 

"  Sophia,  dearest,  do  not  listen  to  those  madmen.  There 
is  no  need  to  burn.  God  never  willed  it.  It  is  a  sin,  a 
temptation  of  the  devil.  Let  us  go  away  together,  loved 
one." 

She  bent  lower  still  over  him  with  a  subtle,  tender  smile, 
her  face  almost  touched  his  ;   he  felt  her  burning  breath. 

"  You  shall  not  go,"  she  murmured  in  a  passionate 
whisper.     "  I  won't  let  you  go." 

She  suddenly  took  his  head  between  her  hands  and 
kissed  him  on  the  lips. 

"  Sister,  sister,  what  are  you  doing  ?  This  is  not  al- 
lowed.    We  might  be  seen." 

"  Let  them  see  us  !  Everything  is  permitted  now  !  the 
fire  will  purge  it  all  !  Only  say  you  will  burn.  Do  you 
will  it  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  faint  whisper,  clinging  closer  and 
closer  to  him. 

Denuded  of  thinking-power,  strength  or  will,  he  whis- 
pered :  " 

"  I  will." 

The  last  glow  was  dying  away  on  the  tree  tops  ;  the 
golden  clouds  had  become  grey  as  ashes.  A  balmy  fresh- 
ness breathed  in  the  air.  The  forest  sheltered  them  with 
the  dense  shade,  earth  covered  them  with  her  tall  grass. 

And  it  seemed  to  Tichon  as  though  the  forest,  grass, 
earth,  air  and  sky  were  all  burning  with  the  last 
fire  wh'ch  should  destroy  th'^  world.  But  he  no  lorgcr 
feared.  He  believed  that  the  Red  Death  was  fairer  than  the 
brightness  of  the  sun. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  monastery  was  abandoned.  The  monks  had  fled 
like  ants  from  their  ruined  hillock. 

In  the  chapel,  which  stood  on  a  mound  apart,  the  Self- 
burners  had  assembled.  Thence  they  could  observe 
the  approach  of  the  soldiers. 

It  was  an  ancient  building  made  of  di"y  logs,  so  constructed 
as  to  give  no  opportunity  for  escape  from  the  flames. 
Instead  of  windows  there  were  narrow  slits  ;  while  the  doors 
were  so  narrow  that  it  was  difficult  for  a  man  to  pass 
through  them.  The  porch  and  staircase  had  been  demol- 
ished. Strong  bolts  had  been  fastened  to  the  doors  and 
thick  planks  nailed  over  the  windows. 

The  preparation  for  the  burning  began  ;  hemp,  flax, 
straw,  pitch  and  bark  were  piled  up,  the  walls  smeared 
with  tar,  and  in  the  wooden  troughs  which  surrounded 
the  building  gunpowder  was  placed,  a  few  pounds  of  it 
being  reserved  for  strewing  on  the  floor  at  the  last  moment. 
Two  sentinels  watched  on  the  roof  by  day  and  ni/rht. 

All  worked  cheerfully  as  though  preparing  lor  a  feast. 
The  children  helped  their  elders,  the  elders  became  children  ; 
every  one  was  intoxicated  with  joy.  Petka  Jisla  was  the 
merriest  of  all.  He  worked  with  the  energy  of  five.  His 
withered  hand  with  the  "  mark  of  the  Beast  "  gradually 
got  cured;  he  was  able  to  move  it.  Old  Father  Cornelius 
ran  about  like  a  spider  in  his  web.  His  eyes,  as  lumi- 
nous in  the  darkness  as  those  of  a  cat,  had  a  heavy,  kindly 
look  in  them,  a  strange  charm  which  compelled  obedience. 

"  Work  away,  friends  !  "  he  cheerily  said  to  those  who 
were  going  to  die  with  him.  "  I,  the  old  horse,  you,  the 
young  colts,  together  we  will  gallop  towards  heav^en,  like 
Elias  in  his  chariot  of  fire." 

When  all  was  ready,  the  door  and  windows,  except  one — 

412 


THE  RED  DEATH  443 

the  narrowest — were  nailed  up.  The  strokes  of  the  ham- 
mer were  hstened  to  in  silence  ;  they  felt  as  though  their 
cofhn  lid  was  nailed  over  them  while  they  were  alive. 

Only  John  the  Simpleton  went  on  singing  his  intermin- 
able song  ; 

A  coffin  of  pine  wood  tree, 
Stands  ready,  stands  ready  for  me. 
Within  its  narrow  wall 
I'll  wait  the  judgment  call  ! 

To  those  who  wished  to  confess  and  be  shriven  old 
Cornelius  said,  "  Why  trouble,  children  !  what  need  have  you 
to  confess  ?  You  are  now  like  God's  angels,  and  more  than 
angels  ;  in  the  words  of  David  I  say  :  '  Ye  are  gods.'  You 
have  overcome  the  power  of  the  Evil  One.  Sin  has  no 
longer  dominion  over  you ;  you  cannot  sin.  Even  though 
there  were  one  among  you  who  had  slain  his  father  or  sinned 
against  his  mother,  even  he  will  be  holy  and  righteous. 
The  flames  purge  everything." 

The  monk  ordered  Tichon  to  read  in  a  loud  voice  a 
passage  in  the  Revelation  of  St.  John,  which  is  always 
omitted  in  Russian  church  services. 

"  And  I  saw  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth,  for  the 
first  heaven  and  the  first  earth  were  passed  away.  And  he 
that  sat  upon  the  throne  said.  Behold,  I  make  all  things 
new.  And  he  said  unto  me.  Write,  for  these  words  are 
true  and  faithful.     And  he  said  unto  me  :  It  is  done." 

Tichon,  in  reading  this  aloud,  experienced  his  familiar 
presentiment  of  the  end  of  all  things,  more  powerfully  than 
ever  before.  He  felt  as  though  those  frail  wooden  walls 
had  already  shut  them  off  from  the  converse  of  the  living,  as 
the  sides  of  a  ship  keep  out  water.  Outside,  time  still 
continued  its  course ;  here  it  had  already  stopped,  and  the 
end  had  come  ;   it  was  fulfilled. 

"  I  see,  I  see,  I  see,  beloved  !  "  cried  Kilikeya,  interrupt- 
ing the  reading,  her  face  pale  and  shrivelled,  a  fixed  look 
in  her  dilated  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  see  ?  "  asked  the  old  monk. 

"  I  see  that  great  city,  the  Holy  Jerusalem,  descending 
from  heaven,  like  unto  a  precious  stone,  a  jasper  stone, 
clear  as  crystal,  an  emerald,  a  topaz  and  a  sapphire.     The 


444  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

twelve  gates  are  twelve  pearls  ;  and  the  street  of  the  city 
is  pure  gold,  transparent  as  glass.  And  the  city  has  no 
sun,  for  the  glory  of  God  illumines  it.  I  am  afraid  1  I 
am  afraid  !  O  my  friends  !  I  see  His  face  more  radiant 
than  the  sun.  Here  He  is,  here  He  is.  He  is  coming  to 
us!  " 

And  they  who  listened  to  her  believed  they  saw  it  also. 

When  the  night  came  and  the  candles  were  lit  they  all 
knelt  and  sang  : — 

"  Behold,  the  Bridegoom  cometh  at  midnight  and  blessed 
is  the  servant  who  is  awake.  Watch,  my  soul,  be  not  heavy 
with  sleep,  lest  the  doors  of  the  Kingdom  be  closed  upon 
thee,  and  thou  be  delivered  unto  death,  but  awake  and  cry, 
'  Holy,  holy,  holy  is  the  Lord.  The  Holy  Virgin  have 
mercy  upon  us.'  Remember  the  terrible  day.  O  my  soul, 
trim  thy  lamps  with  oil,  for  no  one  knows  when  the  cry  will 
be  made  :  '  Behold,  the  bridegroom  cometh.'  " 

Sophia,  standing  next  to  Tichon,  held  his  hand.  He 
felt  the  trembling  pressure  of  her  hand,  and  saw  the  smile 
of  shy  joy  on  her  face  ;  so  does  the  bride  smile  at  her  bride- 
groom before  the  altar.  And  his  soul  was  filled  with  re- 
sponsive joy.  Now  he  believed  that  the  Red  Death  was 
God's  will  while  his  previous  fear  was  Satan's  temptation. 
"  For  whosoever  will  save  his  life  shall  lose  it,  and  who- 
soever will  lose  his  life  for  My  sake  and  the  Gospel's  sake 
shall  find  it." 

They  expected  the  soldiers  that  night,  but  they  did  not 
come.  In  the  morning  they  were  as  heavy  as  after  a 
severe  drinlcing  bout. 

The  monk's  vigilant  eye  was  everywhere.  To  those 
who  grew  despondent  and  timid,  he  gave  little  balls  of  dark 
scented  paste  (which  most  likely  contained  a  stupefying 
poison).  Swallowing  these  caused  a  sort  of  mad  ecstasy ; 
the  weakest  no  longer  dreaded  the  fire,  but  raved  about 
it  as  heavenly  bliss. 

To  give  themselv-es  courage  they  told  each  other  tales 
about  the  voluntary  death  of  starvation,  which  was  sup- 
posed to  be  muc  h  more  terrible  than  death  by  fire. 

These  martyrs  were  placed  in  an  empty  hut,  without 
doors  and  windows,  furnished  only  with  benches.  To 
prevent  their  killing  themselves  all  garments  were  taken 


THE  RED  DEATH  445 

from  them,  even  the  belt  and  cross.  They  were  let  into 
the  hut  through  the  roof,  and  the  hole  was  fastened  up 
so  that  no  one  could  escape.  Guards  armed  with  clubs 
were  posted  around  the  hut.  Their  torments  lasted  three 
to  six  days  ;  they  wept,  praying,  "  Give  us  to  drink,"  they 
bit  their  own  bodies  and  cursed  God.  Once  twenty  people 
were  locked  up  thus  in  a  threshing  barn  ;  weary  of  waitmg 
they  succeeded  in  breaking  one  of  the  boards  and  crept 
out  ;  but  the  guards  knocked  them  on  the  head  with  their 
clubs  and  killed  two  ;  then  closing  the  opening  up,  they 
reported  what  had  happened  to  the  leading  monk,  asking 
what  they  had  better  do.  He  ordered  stiaw  to  be  put 
round  the  barn  and  then  kindled. 

"  The  Red  Death  is  infinitely  easier."  concluded  the 
speakers,  "  it  is  so  quick  that  there  is  no  feeling." 

But  a  small  girl  of  seven,  who  had  been  sitting  quietly 
on  the  bench  and  listening  attentively,  suddenly  began  to 
tremble,  and  jumping  up,  rushed  to  her  mother,  caught 
hold  of  her  skirt,  and  cried  in  a  piercing  voice  : — 

"  Mamma,  mamma,  come,  come  away  !  I  don't  want  to 
be  burned  !  " 

The  mother  tried  in  vain  to  quiet  her,  but  she  continued 
crying  louder  still  : — 

"  I  don't  want  to  burn,  I  don't !  " 

And  such  animal  terror  was  in  that  scream  that  all 
shuddered,  realizing  the  horror  of  what  was  about  to 
happen. 

The  child  was  petted,  threatened,  punished,  yet  she 
continued  to  scream  till  at  last,  aliiost  black  in  the  face 
and  breathless,  she  fell  to  the  ground  in  convulsions.  Father 
Cornelius  bent  over  her,  blessed  her  with  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  beat  her  with  his  rosary  and  recited  an  exorcism  : — 

"  Go  forth,  go  forth,  thou  evil  spirit  !  " 

Nothing  did  any  good  :  he  then  lifted  her  in  his  arms, 
opened  her  mouth  and  forced  her  to  swallow  one  of  the 
balls  of  dark  paste.  He  began  to  stroke  her  hair  gently 
and  whisper  into  her  ear.  The  little  girl  grew  calmer, 
she  seemed  to  have  dozed  off,  but  her  ej'es  remained  open, 
her  pupils  dilated  with  a  fixed  stare,  as  in  delirium.  Tichon 
listened  to  the  man's  whisper.  He  was  telling  her  about  the 
Heavenly  Kingdom,  the  Garden  of  Eden. 


446  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  Uncle,  will  there  be  any  raspberries  there  ?  "  asked 
Akoulina. 

"  Yes,  dear,  there  will.  Very  large  berries,  the  size  of  an 
apple,  and  so  sweet,  so  sweet  !  " 

The  little  girl  smiled,  she  evidently  rejoiced  at  the  idea 
of  these  heavenly  raspberries.  The  old  man  continued  to 
fondle  and  lull  her  with  almost  motherly  tenderness.  Yet 
to  Tichon  there  appeared  something  insane,  pathetic, 
hungry,  in  the  monk's  luminous  eyes.  "  Like  a  spider 
sucking  in  a  fly,"  thought  he. 

The  second  night  came ;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  the 
soldiers. 

During  the  night,  one  of  the  old  nuns  made  her  escape. 
When  all  were  asleep,  even  the  guards,  she  crept  out  on  the 
roof,  and  tried  to  let  herself  down  with  a  rope  of  necker- 
chiefs she  had  tied  together,  but  they  gave  way  and  she 
fell.  For  a  long  time  her  moanings  were  heard  under  the 
windows,  but  at  last  they  ceased  ;  maybe  she  had  crept 
away,  or  passers-by  had  picked  her  up. 

There  was  little  room  in  the  chapel.  The  victims  slept 
on  the  floor  close  to  one  another,  the  men  on  the  right,  the 
women  on  the  left.  Yet^were  they  dreams  or  demons  ? 
— shadows  stealthily  flitted  from  the  right  to  the  left,  from 
the  le't  to  the  right. 

Tichon  woke  up  and  listened.  A  nightingale  was  singing 
in  the  distance  and  her  song  echoed  the  moonlit  night,  the 
freshness  of  a  dewy  meadow,  the  perfume  of  a  pine  forest, 
freedom,  voluptuousness,  the  bliss  of  life.  And  as  in  re- 
sponse to  the  nightingale's  song,  strange  whispers,  rustles, 
sighs,  resembling  sighs  and  kisses  of  love,  rose  from  the 
chapel  floor.  Plainly  the  fiend  was  still  striving  in  man. 
Human  passions  were  not  quenched,  but  fanned,  by  the 
imminence  of  death. 

Cornelius  did  not  sleep.  He  was  praying  and  neither 
saw  nor  heard  anything,  or  if  he  did,  he  pardoned  "his 
poor  children." 

"  God  alone  is  without  sin,  man  is  weak  ;  like  dust  he 
falls  and  rises  like  an  angel.  Not  he  who  goes  wrong  with 
a  maid  or  a  widow  is  a  sinner,  but  he  who  errs  in  his  faith. 
We  do  not  sin  when  our  body  takes  liberties ;  but  the  church 
sins  when  it  tolerates  heresy." 


THE  RED  DEATH  447 

Suddenly  Tichon  felt  that  somebody  was  embracing  and 
clinging  to  him.  It  was  Sophia.  He  was  frightened,  but 
it  flashed  upon  him,  "  The  flames  will  purify  all,"  and  feeling 
through  the  black  habit  the  warmth  and  freshness  of  the 
innocent  body,  their  ardent  lips  met. 

And  the  caresses  of  these  two  children  in  the  dark  building, 
that  common  coffin,  were  as  innocent  as  those  of  Daphnis 
and  Chloe  of  old  on  the  sunny  plain  of  Lesbos. 

Meanwhile,  John  the  Simpleton,  squatting  on  his  heels, 
a  candle  in  his  hands  waiting  for  the  dawn,  swayed  gently 
to  and  fro  and  sang  endlessly  : — 

You  hollowed  oaks  will  prove, 
Fit  house  for  us. 

The  nightingale  sang  on  of  liberty,  voluptuousness, 
and  the  bliss  of  life.  Her  song  seemed  a  delicate  mockery 
of  the  song  of  the  Simpleton. 

Tichon  recalled  a  distant  pale,  white  night,  a  group  of 
people  on  a  raft  upon  the  glassy  surface  of  the  Neva, 
between  two  skies,  two  abysses,  and  the  gentle  languid 
music  wafted  across  from  the  Summer  Garden,  kisses  and 
sighs  from  the  kingdom  of  Venus  : 

'Tis  time  to  cast  thy  bow  away, 

Cupid  !  we  all  are  in  thy  sway. 

Thy  golden  love-awaking  dart 

Has  reached  and  wounded  every  heart. 

Before  dawn,  Minei,  a  man  eighty  years  old,  tried  to 
escape.  Kirukha  caught  him,  they  had  a  fight.  Minei 
nearly  killed  Kirukha  with  his  axe.  The  old  man  was 
seized  by  the  throat  and  locked  in  a  closet,  where  he  went 
on  screaming  and  reviling  Cornelius  with  all  his  might. 

At  daybreak  Tichon  looked  out  to  see  whether  the  sol- 
diers had  arrived  ;  he  saw  nothing  but  the  empty  glade 
flooded  with  sunshine,  the  dreamy,  friendly,  but  gloomy 
pines,  and  dewdrops  sparkling  in  iridescent  hues.  He  felt 
the  fresh  perfume  of  the  pinewood,  the  gentle  warmth  of 
the  rising  sun,  the  peace  of  the  blue  heavens  ;  and  again 
all  that  was  going  on  in  the  chapel  seemed  a  madman's 
delirium. 

Another  long  summer's  day  began.  The  weariness  of 
waiting    grew    unbearable.     Famine    threatened.     There 


448  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

was  but  little  water  and  bread  :  a  bag  of  rye  biscuits,  and 
two  baskets  of  sacramental  loaves. 

On  the  other  hand  there  was  a  quantity  of  red  wine. 
They  drank  it  eagerly.  Some  one,  being  drunk,  suddenly 
started  a  coarse  song.  It  sounded  sadder  than  the  wildest 
moan. 

The  people  began  to  murmur,  they  whispered  together 
in  corners  and  looked  angrily  at  old  Cornelius.  What  if 
the  soldiers  do  not  appear  at  all.  Will  they  have  to  die  of 
hunger  ?  Some  demanded  that  the  door  should  be  opened 
and  bread  sent  for.  Yet  their  eyes  expressed  but  one 
thought,  escape.  Others  wished  to  burn  at  once  without 
waiting  for  the  persecutors.  Others  prayed,  but  their 
face  proclaimed  they  would  rather  have  blasphemed. 
Others  again,  having  eaten  the  dark  balls,  which  the  monk 
distributed  more  and  more  freely,  raved,  laughing  and  weep- 
ing. One  lad  in  a  fit  of  madness  seized  a  candle  burning 
before  an  icon  and  began  to  set  the  straw  on  fire.  It  was 
quenched  with  difficulty.  Some  sat  for  hours  without  a 
word  in  a  kind  of  waking  trance,  not  daring  to  look  into  one 
another's  eyes. 

Sophia,  sitting  near  Tichon,  who  lay  on  the  ground,  ex- 
hausted by  sleeplessness  and  famine,  sang  a  melancholy 
song  which  the  Chlisti  sang  at  their  meeting,  a  song  about 
the  loneliness  of  a  human  soul,  forsaken  in  life  as  in  a  dark 
wood.     The  song  ended  in  a  sob  : — 

Thrice  holy  mother  of  God, 
Implore  thy  Son  for  us  ! 
On  earth  are  many  sinners  ; 
On  the  moist  earth,  our  mother, 
Our  nurse  supreme. 

Nobody  saw  them.  Sophia  rested  her  head  onTichon's 
shoulder,  and  cheek  to  cheek  with  him  she  wept. 

"  I  am  grieved  for  you,  Tichon,  my  darling,"  she  whimpered 
in  his  ear,  "  I  have  led  you  into  perdition,  wretch  that  I 
am  !  Will  you  escape  ?  I  will  get  you  a  rope.  Or  stay, 
I  will  beg  Cornelius  ;  there  is  a  subterranean  path  leading 
into  the  wood,  he  will  let  you  go  out." 

Tichon,  exhausted,  remained  silent,  smiling  at  her  like 
a  child  half  awake.     His  senses  wavered.     Through  his 


THE  RED  DEATH  449 

mind  floated  idly  distant  memories,  as  in  some  delirium  ; 
abstract  mathematical  definitions,  to  the  graceful  and 
severe  beauty  of  which— their  icy  transparency  and  regu- 
larity— he  was  now  specially  sensitive.  Well  had  old  Pastor 
Gliick  compared  mathematics  to  music,  to  the  crystal 
music  of  the  spheres  !  He  remembered  also  the  discussion 
between  Gliick  and  James  Bruce  over  Newton's  Com- 
mentaries on  the  Apocalypse,  he  could  hear  the  dry, 
short,  wooden  laughter  of  Bruce,  and  his  words,  which  had 
at  the  time  echoed  in  Tichon's  soul  with  such  alarming 
presentiment.  Bruce  had  said,  "  At  the  very  time  that 
Newton  was  writing  his  Commentaries,  here  at  the  other 
extreme  of  the  world,  here  in  Muscovy,  wild  fanatics, 
named  Raskolniks,  were  also  commenting  in  their  rude, 
uninstructed  way  upon  the  Apocalyse,  and  drawing  conclu- 
sions almost  identical  with  those  of  Newton.  The  Ras- 
kolniks daily  expect  the  end  of  the  world  ;  some  of  them 
sleep  in  cofhns,  and  sing  funeral  hymns  ;  others  burn 
themselves  alive.  How  extraordinary  this  coincidence 
of  imaginations  !  That  the  extreme  West  and  the  extreme 
East,  the  greatest  enlightenment  and  the  greatest  ignorance, 
should  meet  in  a  single  Apocalyptic  conception  !  A  fact 
which  in  itself  is  enough  to  make  one  believe  that  the  end 
of  the  world  is  drawing  nigh ;  that  we  shall  all  go  to  the  devil 
very  soon  !  "  Newton's  prophecy  as  repeated  by  Gliick 
assumed  a  new  and  vivid  significance,  "  Hypotheses  non 
fingo  !  I  don't  make  hypotheses  !  Like  a  moth  to  the  fire, 
a  comet  rushes  to  the  sun.  From  the  fusion  of  these  the 
heat  of  the  sun  will  so  increase,  that  the  earth  will  be  con- 
sumed. It  is  written  in  the  scriptures :  '  The  heavens 
shall  pass  away  with  a  great  noise,  and  the  elements 
shall  melt  with  fervent  heat,  the  earth  also  and  the  works 
that  are  therein  shall  be  consumed.'  Then  will  be  fulfilled 
the  two  prophecies  ;  that  of  the  man  of  science  who 
knew,  and  that  of  the  ignorant  who  had  faith."  Tichon 
also  recalled  the  old  octavo,  No.  461,  of  Bruce's  library  ; 
gnawed  by  the  mice,  bearing  the  illiterate  Russi?n  in- 
scription, "  Lionardo  D'Avinci's  '  Treatise  on  Painting,' 
in  German."  A  portrait  of  Leonardo,  which  had  an  odd 
look,  also,  of  Prometheus  or  Simon  Magus,  had  been  slipped 
into  the  book.      And   beside  Leonardo,  Tichon  thought 

F  F 


450  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

he  saw  another  face,  hkewise  terrible,  the  face  of  a  giant 
clad  in  a  Dutch  skipper's  leather  jacket,  whom  he  had  once 
met  in  Petersburg  in  the  Troitsa  square,  near  the  "  Four 
Frigates  "  coffee  house.  It  was  the  face  of  Peter,  once,  he 
thought,  so  hateful  to  him,  now  suddenly  admired,  beloved. 
The  two  faces  had  something  in  common,  something  similar 
and  yet  opposed  :  Da  Vinci  stood  for  thoughtful  Contem- 
plation ;  Peter  for  reason  in  Action.  And  both  these  faces 
seemed  to  exhale  on  Tichon  a  delicious  cool  air,  such  as 
snow-clad  mountains  waft  to  a  wanderer  exhausted  by  the 
heat  of  the  dales. 

"  O  Physics  !  save  me  from  Metaphysics  !  "  He  remem- 
bered Newton's  words,  so  often  repeated  by  the  drunken 
Gliick.  In  these  two  faces  lay  the  sole  salvation  from  the 
fiery  heaven  of  the  Red  Death — in  both  homage  to  Earth, 
the  "  fertile  mother  of  all." 

Then  all  grew  confused  and  Tichon  fell  asleep.  He 
dreamt  he  was  flying  over  some  visionary  city  :  either  the 
old  legendary  town  Kitish,  or  the  New  Jerusalem,  or 
perhaps  Stockholm,  or  else  the  Glass  City,  "  like  unto  clear 
glass  and  a  jasper  stone,  clear  as  crystal."  A  music  which 
was  at  the  same  time  mathematics  filled  the  luminous 
city. 

He  suddenly  awoke.  All  around  him  were  bustling 
about  with  joyous  faces. 

"  The  soldiers,  the  soldiers  have  come  !  " 

Tichon  looked  out  and  saw  afar  off,  on  the  borders  of  the 
wood,  in  the  evening  twilight,  men  around  a  lire  wearing 
three-cornered  hats,  green  coats  with  red  lapels,  and 
brass  buttons.  These  were  the  soldiers.  "  The  soldiers 
have   come.     Kindle!  friends  !     God  is  with  us  !  " 


CHAPTER    V 

CAPTAIN   PIRSKY   had   received   the   following   in- 
structions   from    the    Bishop    of    Nijni-Novgorod. 

"  The  haunt  of  theRaskolniks  is  to  be  approached  secretly, 
lest  the  people  set  themselves  on  fire.  Should  they  shut 
themselves  up  in  their  monastery  or  chapel  the  soldiers 
must  surround  them  in  close  order,  and  watch  their  shelter 
carefully  night  and  day.  At  all  costs  prevent  a  fire.  Try 
and  persuade  them  to  surrender,  and  give  them  hope  that 
they  will  all  be  freely  pardoned.  And  when  they  surrender 
make  a  list  of  their  names,  put  them  into  footstocks  or 
chains  to  make  flight  impossible,  and  send  them  with 
all  their  goods  under  guard  to  Nijni.  But  if,  unmoved 
by  your  persuasions,  they  refuse  to  surrender,  stubbornl}' 
remaining  shut  in,  you  must  get  them  out  as  best  you  can 
by  siege  and  famine  ;  catching  the  ringleaders  that  their 
heresy-  may  not  spread.  Take  them  prisoners  by  force 
or  starvation,  but  avoid  bloodshed.  Should  they  set  their 
robbers'  den  or  chapel  on  fire,  you  must  flood  it  with  water, 
and  hacking  away  windows  and  doors,  drag  them  out 
alive." 

Captain  Pirsky,  a  brave  old  retired  soldier,  who  had  been 
wounded  at  Poltava,  considered  the  destruction  of  mon- 
asteries, a  "cunning  invention  of  the  army  of  long-haired 
popes,"  and  would  have  preferred  to  have  encountered  the 
severest  fire  of  the  Swedes  or  Turks,  than  to  meddle  with 
the  Raskolniks.  They  chose  to  burn  themselves  and  he 
always  received  the  blame  !  "  The  captain  and  other  lay 
officers  should  exercise  more  caution  and  skill,  for  it  is 
obvious  that  the  Raskolniks  seek  death  in  the  flames  for 
fear  of  the  Captain."  Pirsky  explained  that  the  Raskolniks 
were  driven  to  death,  not  by  fear  but  by  their  stubborn  hate 
of  the  world.      "  They  are  filled  with  anger  against  us, 

i5i 


452  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

whom  they  consider  apostates,  and  would  rather  suffer 
death  than  accept  the  new  faith,  so  inflated  and  stubborn  are 
they  over  minutest  trifles."  But  these  explanations  were 
not  listened  to  at  the  bishop's  palace  and  the  remonstrances 
continued. 

With  regard  to  the  "  Bank  of  Mosses,"  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  act  with  great  caution  and  prudence.  In  the 
evening,  ordering  his  troops  to  retire  into  the  wood  and 
not  to  stir,  he  approached  the  chapel  alone,  unarmed, 
carefully  inspected  the  place  and  knocked  at  the  window, 
repeating  a  prayer  after  the  manner  of  the  Raskolniks. 

"  Jesus  Christ,  Son  of  God,  have  mercy  upon  us !  " 

No  one  replied.  All  was  quite  as  the  grave  in  the  chapel, 
nobody  could  be  seen.  The  tree  tops  gently  rustled.  The 
fresh  night  breeze  was  rising.  "If  they  set  themselves 
on  fire  we  are  done  for,"  thought  the  captain  ;  he  knocked 
again  and  repeated  : — 

"  Jesus  Christ,  Son  of  God,  have  mercy  upon  us." 

Again  silence,  troubled  only  by  the  marsh  crickets  and 
a  dog  howling  in  the  distance.  A  falling  star  flashed 
across  the  dark  sky  in  a  fiery  curve  and  dispersed  in  sparks. 
He  felt  terrified  as  though  he  really  were  knocking  at  a 
grave. 

"  Jesus  Christ,  Son  of  God,  have  mercy  upon  us,"  he 
uttered  for  a  third  time. 

The  shutter  at  the  window  moved.  A  light  fell  through 
the  chink.  At  last  the  window  slowly  opened  and  Cornelius' 
head  peered  through  it. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  Who  are  you,  and  why  have  you 
come  ?  " 

"  By  his  Majesty  Tsar  Peter's  decree  we  have  come  to 
exhort  you  to  tell  us  who  you  are,  of  what  rank,  what  name, 
how  long  you  have  lived  in  these  woods,  what  permission 
you  had  to  leave  your  houses  and  by  what  decree  you  live 
here  ?  If  you  have  any  doubts  as  to  Holy  Church  and 
her  sacraments,  you  shoull  describe  them  in  writing  and 
send  your  teachers  to  deliberate  with  the  chiefs  of  the 
clergy,  without  fear  or  mistrust." 

"  We  peasants  and  commoners  have  assembled  here  in 
the  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  we  will  do  what  is  right  by 
our  wives  and  children,"  replied  the  old  man  in  a  slow. 


THE  RED  DEATH  453 

measured,  solemn  tone.  "  We  desire  to  die  in  the  flames 
for  our  ancient  Faith  and  we  will  not  give  ourselves  into 
your  hands  ;  you  are  persecutors,  and  your  Faith  is  new. 
Should  any  of  you  desire  to  be  saved  let  him  join  us  in  the 
flames.    We  shall  be  with  Christ  to-day." 

"  Enough,  friend,"  replied  the  captain  in  a  kindly  voice, 
"  the  Lord  be  with  you.  Put  away  this  seditious  project, 
disperse  to  your  houses  and  no  one  will  hurt  you.  You 
may  return  to  live  happily  in  your  villages.  You  will  pay 
a  double  tax  ;    and  that's  all." 

"  Ah  captain,  tell  that  to  children  in  arms  ;  we  folks  know 
what  we  have  to  expect.     Fine  talk,  and  there  it  ends." 

"  I  swear,  upon  my  honour,  to  let  every  one  of  you  go 
free  without  hurt,"  exclaimed  Pirsky.  He  spoke  the 
truth ;  he  really  had  decided  to  let  them  off,  contrary  to 
the  decree,  on  his  own  responsibility,  if  they  would  only 
surrender. 

"  But  why  should  we  waste  our  strength  in  shouting, 
our  voices  might  give  way."  I  am  getting  hoarse,"  he 
added  with  a  smile.  "  The  window  is  so  high  I  can  scarcely 
hear.  Look  here  !  Drop  a  leather  line  and  I  will  fasten 
myself  to  it  and  you  can  pull  me  up  through  the  window, 
but  a  wider  one  than  this.  I  could  not  get  through  this 
one.  I  am  alone,  you  are  many  ;  there  is  nothing  for  you 
to  fear.  We  will  talk,  and  with  God's  help  we  may  come 
to  an  understanding." 

"  To  what  purpose  should  we  talk  ?  How  can  we,  desti- 
tute beggars,  vie  with  such  as  you,"  answ'ered  Cornelius, 
sarcastically  revelling  in  his  power  and  superiority,  "  be- 
tween us  and  you  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed  ;  none  of  our 
people,  if  he  wished,  could  go  to  you,  none  of  yours  could 
could  join  us.  I  would  advise  you.  Captain,  to  go  back. 
We  shall  light  up  directly." 

The  window  was  flung  to.  Again  silence  ensued,  only 
the  wind  rustled  in  the  tree  tops,  and  the  crickets  chirped 
from  the  swamps. 

The  captain  returned  to  his  soldiers  and  treated  each 
man  to  a  glass  of  vodka."  "  We  will  not  fight  with  them." 
he  said,  "  there  are  but  few  men  among  them,  mostly 
women  and  children.  We  will  break  open  the  door  and 
catch  them  without  any  weapons." 


454  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  soldiers  prepared  ropes,  hatchets,  ladders,  pails  and 
barrels  full  of  water,  and  long  poles  each  ending  with  an 
iron  hook,  to  haul  the  human  beings  out  of  the  flames. 
At  last  when  it  was  quite  dark  the  men  approached  the 
chapel  along  the  border  of  the  wood,  then  across  the  glade 
on  all-fours,  hiding  in  the  tall  grass  and  behind  bushes  like 
sportsmen  beating  their  game. 

Arrived  at  the  chapel,  which  was  still  as  the  grave,  they 
began  to  put  up  their  ladders. 

Suddenly,  the  window  opened  and  Cornelius  cried  : — 

"  Back  !  When  the  powder  and  saltpetre  take  fire  the 
falling  beams  will  kill  you  !  " 

"  Surrender,"  cried  the  captain ;  "we  will  take  you 
somehow,  see  we  have  muskets  and  pistols — " 

"  You  have  pistols,  we  have  the  club  of  Christ,"  replied 
a  voice  from  within. 

Behind  the  soldiers  a  priest  appeared  with  a  cross  and 
began  to  read  the  bishop's  missive. 

"  He  who  kills  himself  unlawfully  is  a  lost  man,  he  loses 
his  temporal  life,  and  draws  upon  himself  everlasting 
torment." 

The  muzzle  of  an  old  cannon  appeared  in  the  window, 
a  blank  cartridge  was  fired,  not  to  kill  but  to  intimidate  the 
persecutors. 

The  priest  hid  himself  behind  the  soldiers,  while  old 
Cornelius  brandishing  his  fist  yelled  : — 

"  Hell's  torches  !  Ashes  of  Sodom  !  Sands  of  the  ruined 
tower  of  Babylon  !  give  me  only  time,  dogs,  you  won't 
escape  me.  I  will  treat  you  better  yet.  The  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  will  soon  come  and  fight  you,  all  will  be  fulfilled, 
thrones  will  crumble,  and  your  bones  will  be  thrown  to  the 
the  dogs  like  Jezebel's  !  We  shall  burn  in  earthly  fire,  you 
will  burn  in  the  flames  everlasting  !  Forge  then  innumer- 
able blades,  prepare  then  the  most  cruel  torments,  invent 
terrible  deaths,  our  joy  will  only  be  the  keener  !  Kindle, 
friends  !   the  Lord  is  with  us  !  " 

Women's  sarafans  and  garments,  coats,  skirts,  shirts, 
men's  tunics  were  thrown  out  of  the  window  : — 

"  Here,  persecutors,  take  them,  cast  lots,  we  need  nothing. 
Naked  we  came  into  the  world ;  naked  we  will  return  to  the 
Lord  !  " 


THE  RED  DEATH  455 

"Spare  at  least  your  children,  you  damnable  crew!" 
cried  the  captain  in  despair. 

A  funeral  chant,  soft  and  low,  arose  within  the  chapel. 
"Force  the  door!"  ordered  the  captain. 
All  was  ready  within.  The  firing  was  prepared.  The 
hemp,  flax,  pitch,  straw  and  bark  were  piled  in  large  heaps. 
The  wax  candles  before  the  icons  were  so  slightly  fixed 
that  the  least  vibration  would  cause  them  to  drop  into  the 
troughs  of  gunpowder.  This  was  purposely  arranged  to 
make  self -burning  look  less  like  suicide.  The  children 
were  seated  on  benches,  to  which  their  garments  had  been 
nailed  so  that  they  could  not  run  away,  their  hands  and 
feet  were  bound  to  prevent  their  struggling,  their  mouths 
were  tied  round  with  handkerchiefs  to  stifle  their  cries. 
On  the  floor  a  quantity  of  frankincense  in  clay  vessels  had 
been  lit,  so  that  the  children  should  be  suffocated  before 
their  elders  and  not  see  the  real  terror  of  the  conflagration. 
A  woman  had  just  been  delivered  of  a  baby  girl.  She  was 
laid  on  the  bench  to  be  baptized  with  fire. 

Then  having  taken  off  their  clothes  they  all  put  on  new 
white  shrouds,  and  on  their  heads  crowns  adorned  with  eight- 
branched  crosses  in  red  ink,  they  knelt  in  rows,  tapers  in 
hand,  to  meet  the  Bridegroom. 

Old  Cornelius  lifting  up  his  hands  prayed  in  a  loud 
voice  : — 

"Lord  God  accept  us.  Thy  unworthy  servants!     We 
are  weak  and  powerless,  and  dare  not  fall  into  the  hands 
of  our  enemies.    Protect  this  chosen  flock,  which  follows 
Thee,  the  good  Shepherd,  fleeing  the  cruel  wolf — Antichrist. 
Save  and  be  gracious  unto  us.     Thou  knowest  the  destinies 
of  all,  make  us  firm  and  steadfast  to  bear  the  suffering. 
Have  mercy  upon  us  O  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us.     Holy 
Virgin,  we   implore  thee,  have  pity  upon  us ;   we  die  for 
Thy  pure  love's  sake  !  " 
All  repeated  after  him. 
"  We  die  for  Thy  pure  love's  sake  !  " 
Most  pathetic  was  this  human  cry  to  God  ! 
At   this  moment   the  soldiers,   having  surrounded   the 
church,  and  climbed  the  ladders,  began  to  demolish  with 
their  axes  the  thick  log  walls,  the  windows  frames  and  doors. 
The  walls  shook.     The  tapers  fell,  but  every  time  chanced 


456  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

to  miss  the  gunpowder  troughs.  Then  at  a  sign  from  the 
old  monk,  Kirucha  seized  a  bundle  of  tapers,  burning 
before  the  icon  of  the  Virgin,  threw  them  into  the  gun- 
powder and  jumped  aside.  The  powder  exploded,  the 
fuel  blazed  up,  streams  of  fire  spread  along  the  floor  and 
walls.  Thick  smoke,  first  white,  then  black,  filled  the 
chapel,  it  choked  the  flames.  Then  fiery  tongues  alone 
pierced  the  smoke  and  hissing,  like  darts  of  serpents, 
approached  the  people,  licked  them  and  retreated  as  in  play. 

Terrible  screams  burst  out.  And  through  the  groans 
of  the  sufferers,  through  the  noise  of  the  flame,  continued 
the  song  of  triumphant  joy  : — 

"  The  Bridegroom  cometh  at  midnight." 

Only  two  or  three  minutes  passed  between  the  kindling 
of  the  fire  and  Tichon  losing  his  consciousness,  yet  what 
he  saw,  nothing  could  erase  from  his  memory. 

The  old  monk  seized  the  newly-born  infant,  blessed  it 
in  the  name  of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  and 
threw  her  into  the  flames — the  first  victim. 

John  the  Simpleton  stretched  his  hands  out  towards  the 
fire,  as  if  to  meet  the  coming  Lord,  whom  he  had  been 
expecting  all  his  life  long. 

Kilikeya's  shroud  had  caught  fire,  her  hair  was  ablaze, 
surrounding  her  head  like  a  crown  of  flames,  she  felt  no 
pain  and  remained  immovable  ;  her  eyes  wide  open  ;  in  the 
fire  no  doubt  she  saw  the  holy  city,  the  New  Jerusalem, 
descending  from  the  heavens. 

Petka  Jisla  stooped  and  running  forward  threw  himself 
into  the  fire  head  foremost,  like  a  gay  swimmer  diving. 

Tichon  also  beheld  something  joyous  and  intoxicating 
in  the  terrible  glare  and  noise.     He  remembered  the  song. 

Green  grass  is  growing  at  her  feet, 
Starred  with  florets  blue  an.l  sweet. 

He  seemed  to  recognize  these  flowers  in  the  transparent 
blue  heart  of  the  flames.  Their  celestial  colour  promised 
ineft'able  bliss,  but  the  way  to  it  lay  through  the  Red 
Death. 

The  besiegers  succeeded  in  removing  several  logs.  The 
smoke  escaped  through  the  opening.  Soldiers  with  the 
help  of  poles  were  hauling  the  victims  out  and  pouring 


THE  RED  DEATH  457 

water  over  them.  Mother  Theoduha,  a  centenarian,  was 
dragged  out  by  her  legs ;  Vitaha  caught  hold  of  her  and  was 
also  rescued,  but  she  died  the  next  moment,  her  body  was 
one  wound.  Father  Spiridon,  when  pulled  out,  cut  his 
throat.  He  lived  four  hours  longer,  crossed  himself  con- 
tinually after  the  manner  of  the  Raskolniks,  reviled  the 
Niconians  and  rejoiced,  as  the  captain  stated  in  his  report, 
at  having  mortally  wounded  himself. 

Others,  after  the  first  contact  with  the  flames,  of  their 
own  accord  rushed  to  the  opening,  trampling  upon  one 
another,  and  climbing  over  the  pile  of  bodies,  cried  to  the 
soldiers  : 

"  Help  !  help  !  we  burn  !  " 

Animal  fear  took  the  place  of  angelic  ecstasy.  Those  who 
remained  endeavoured  to  hold  back  the  fleeing.  An  old  man 
had  clutched  with  both  hands  the  edge  of  the  opening, 
ready  to  jump  out,  but  his  grandson,  a  boy  of  seventeen, 
knocked  a  stick  across  his  hands,  so  hard  that  he  let  go  and 
the  grandfather  fell  back  into  the  flames.  A  woman  was 
escaping  with  her  little  boy,  but  the  father  caught  hold  of 
the  child's  legs,  swung  him  in  the  air  and  dashed  out  his 
brains  against  a  beam.  The  porter  of  the  monastery,  a 
stout  man,  who  had  fallen  into  a  pool  of  burning  pitch, 
writhed  and  leapt  as  in  a  dance.  "  Like  a  fish  in  a  frying 
pan,"  thought  Tichon  with  sinister  irony,  and  closed  his 
eyes  so  as  not  to  see. 

The  heat  and  smoke  were  stifling  him.  Purple  hare- 
bells on  a  blood-red  field  were  beckoning  to  him  and  ringing 
plaintively.  He  felt  that  Sophia  was  nestling  up  and 
embracing  him.  And  under  her  shroud,  her  young, 
innocent  body  was  fresh  as  some  flower,  blossoming  in  the 
furnace.  And  still  living  voices  continued  to  chant  amid 
the  groans  of  the  dying. 

"  Lo,  the  Bridegroom  cometh  !  " 

"  My  Bridegroom,  my  beloved  Christ !  "  whispered  Sophia 
into  Tichon's  ear.  He  felt  that  the  fire  which  consumed 
him  inwardly  was  more  intense  than  the  flam  es  of  the  Red 
Death.  They  dropped  together,  as  in  one  embrace  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  lie  down  upon  the  nuptial  couch. 

The  burning  woman,  arrayed  with  the  sun  and  winged 
with  fire,  carried  him  away  into  the  flaming  abyss. 


458  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  heat  was  so  intense  that  the  soldiers  had  to  stand 
back ;  two  were  scorched,  one  had  fallen  in  the  chapel  and 
perished. 

The  captain  was  angry. 

"  Fools,  accursed  fools  !  I'd  rather  fight  the  Swede  or 
the  Turk  than  have  to  do  with  these  beggars  !  " 

The  old  man's  face  was  paler  than  when  he  lay  wounded 
on  the  battlefield  of  Poltava. 

Fanned  by  the  wind  the  flame  rose  higher  and  higher 
with  a  noise  like  thunder.  Burning  brands  flew  about 
like  fiery  birds.  The  whole  chapel  was  a  furnace,  and  in 
this  furnace  as  in  the  fiery  pit  of  hell,  writhed  a  pile  of 
contorted  human  bodies.  Skins  were  bursting,  the  blood 
bubbled,  the  fat  boiled,  an  atrocious  odour  filled  the  air. 
Suddenly  the  logs  of  the  roof  fell.  A  column  of  fire  shot 
into  the  sky  like  a  gigantic  torch. 

Earth  and  sky  were  lit  up  by  the  red  glow,  as  though 
the  last  fire  which  was  to  consume  the  world  were  already 
blazing. 

Tichon  recovered  consciousness  in  the  wood,  on  the 
fresh  dewy  grass. 

He  learnt  afterwards  that  at  the  last  moment,  when  he 
had  swooned,  Cornelius  and  Kirucha  had  taken  him  up  in 
their  arms  and  rushed  into  the  sanctuary.  Under  the 
altar  was  a  trap-door,  which  led  into  a  secret  chamber  and 
thence,  following  a  subterranean  passage,  they  reached 
the  wood,  a  thicket  where  the  persecutors  could  not  find 
them. 

Almost  all  the  preachers  of  "  Self -burning  "  acted  in  this 
way  :  they  let  the  others  perish,  but  they  and  their  closest 
disciples  ran  away  in  order  to  continue  their  teaching. 

Tichon  had  taken  a  long  time  to  recover.  The  monk  and 
Kirucha  sprinkled  him  repeatedly  with  water  ;  they  thought 
he  would  die,  though  his  burns  were  not  severe. 

At  last  he  opened  his  eyes  and  asked  : — 

"  Where  is  Sophia  ?  " 

The  monk  looked  at  him  with  his  lucid,  kindly  eyes. 

"  Do  not  fret,  my  child,  do  not  sorrow  for  your  bride. 
Her  soul  is  in  heaven,  together  with  the  holy  martyrs." 

And  lifting  his  eyes  to  heaven  he  crossed  himself  and 
said  with  joyful  accents : — 


THE  RED  DEATH  459 

"  Eternal  remembrance  be  to  God's  servants,  who  of 
their  own  accord  sought  death  by  flames.  Rest,  beloved, 
until  the  day  of  Resurrection,  and  pray  for  us  ;  we  too  will 
drink  the  cup  when  our  time  comes.  It  has  not  come  yet, 
we  must  go  on  labouring  for  Christ.  You  too,  my  son, 
have  passed  through  the  test  of  fire,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  Tichon,  "  you  are  dead  to  the  world,  and  have  risen  in 
Christ.  Endeavour  then  to  live  this  second  life  not  for 
yourself,  but  for  God.  Put  on  the  armour  of  light,  rise 
and  walk,  be  a  soldier  of  Christ,  a  preacher  of  the  Red 
Death." 

And  he  added  with  cheerfulness  : — 

"  We  will  go  to  the  Ocean,  to  the  border  land  :  there 
also  we  will  kindle  fires,  but  we  will  be  bold,  we  will  burn 
innumerable  brethren.  God  will  bless  our  zeal  and  the 
whole  of  Russia  will  blaze  up,  and  after  Russia  the  whole 
world." 

Tichon  said  nothing,  he  had  closed  his  eyes.  The  monk 
thinking  he  had  again  fallen  asleep,  went  to  the  hut  to 
prepare  herbs  for  curing  burns.  Then  Tichon,  left  to 
himself,  turned  away  from  the  still  bloody  sky,  and  pressed 
his  face  against  the  ground. 

The  moist  earth  eased  his  pain,  and  he  felt  that  the 
Earth  had  heard  his  prayer,  that  she  had  saved  him  from 
the  Red  Death,  and  that  he  was  coming  forth  from  her 
womb  anew,  like  babe,  like  a  dead  man  resuscitated.  And 
Ae  flung  his  arms  over  her,  kissed  her  as  though  she  were 
alive,  praying : — 

Wonderful  Queen,  Mother  of  God  ! 
Earth,  thou  fertile  Mother  of  all. 

A  few  days  later,  when  the  monk  was  preparing  to 
leave,  Tichon  escaped  from  him.  He  now  understood  that 
the  church  of  the  "  Old  Believers  "  was  no  better  than  the 
church  of  the  Orthodox.  He  had  decided  to  return  into 
the  world,  there  to  seek  the  true  faith  until  he  found  it. 


Book  X 

FATHER   AND    SON 

CHAPTER    I 

TO  Alexis  the  Church  was  no  longer  the  true  church 
after  he  became  acquainted  with  the  Tsar's  ukase, 
whereby  the  seal  of  the  confessional  was  no  longer  inviolate. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  Lord  had,  without  doubt,  aban- 
doned His  Church  since  He  allowed  its  humiliation. 

When  the  Moscow  trial  was  ended,  Peter  returned  to 
Petersburg  on  March  24,  the  eve  of  Lady  Day.  He  applied 
himself  with  so  much  zeal  in  his  "  Paradise  "  to  the  building 
of  ships,  the  establishing  of  Government  ofhces  and  the 
transaction  of  general  business,  that  many  in  his  official 
circle  thought  that  the  inquiry  had  really  ended,  and  that 
the  whole  affair  was  to  be  consigned  to  oblivion.  The 
Tsarevitch,  had,  however,  been  brought  from  Moscow 
under  guard,  together  with  the  other  convicts,  and  lodged 
in  a  separate  house  next  to  the  Winter  Palace. 

Here  he  was  kept  a  close  prisoner,  being  allowed  neither 
to  go  out,  nor  to  see  any  one.  It  was  rumoured  that  he 
had  gone  out  of  his  mind  through  excessive  drinking. 

The  Easter  holy  week  came.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  Alexis  refused  to  prepare  himself  for  Communion. 
Priests  were  sent  to  try  and  persuade  him,  but  he  declined 
to  have  anything  whatever  to  do  with  them  ;  he  took 
them  all  as  spies. 

Easter  fell  on  April  13.  The  Easter  midnight  service 
was  celebrated  in  the  Cathedral  of  the  Troitsa,  one  of  the 
oldest  buildings  in  Petersburg,  and  as  small,  low  and  dark 
as  a  simple  village  church.     The  Tsar,  the  Tsaritsa  and 


462  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

the  Ministers  and  senators  were  present.  Alexis  at  first 
refused  to  attend,  but  he  was  brought  thither  by  the  Tsar's 
orders. 

In  the  semi-dark  church  the  tomb  of  Christ  with  a 
picture  of  the  dead  was  installed  according  to  custom,  and 
the  Psalm  of  the  great  Saturday,  chanted  over  the  repre- 
sentation, sounded  like  a  funeral  dirge. 

The  officiating  priests  came  out  of  the  sanctuary  still 
robed  in  their  black  lenten  vestments  ;  they  raised  the 
tomb  with  the  representation  of  our  Lord,  bore  it  into  the 
sanctuary  and  closed  the  doors  :  they  had  laid  the  Lord 
in  the  grave. 

The  singers  intoned  the  last  verse  of  the  Canticle : — 

"  When  thou  didst  descend  unto  death,   Eternal " 

Silence  ensued. 

Then  suddenly  the  crowd  began  to  sway  and  move  as 
though  hurriedly  preparing  for  some  event.  The  wax 
taper  which  each  one  bore  was  lighted  from  that  of  his 
neighbour.  The  Church  was  filled  with  a  soft  light,  and 
in  this  luminous  hush  there  was  the  expectation  of  great 

Joy. 

Alexis  lighted  his  candle  at  that  of  his  neighbour,  Count 
Peter  Andreitch  Tolstoi  —  his  Judas  Iscariot.  The  deli- 
cate light  brought  back  to  him  ail  that  he  used  to  feel 
at  the  early  Easter  Mass  ;  but  he  thrust  these  feelings 
aside,  he  no  longer  cared  to  recall  them,  he  even  dreaded 
them.  Gazing  absently  at  Prince  Menshikoff's  back  as 
he  stood  in  front  of  him,  he  tried  to  fix  his  attention  on 
how  to  avoid  dropping  some  of  the  melted  wax  upon  the 
gold  embroideries  of  the  Prince's  dress. 

From  behind  the  closed  altar  gates  came  the  voice  of 
the  deacon  : — 

"  Thy  Resurrection,  0  Christ,  our  Saviour  !  is  chanted 
by  angels  in  heaven." 

The  gates  opened  and  two  choirs  sang  in  response  : — 

"  Grant  unto  us,  who  are  on  earth,  to  glorify  thee  with 
a  pure  heart." 

The  priests,  now  arrayed  in  light  paschal  vestments, 
issued  from  the  sanctuary  and  the  jM'ocession  was  formed. 

The  great  bell  of  the  Cathedral  began  to  peal ;    it  was 


FATHER  AND  SON  463 

answered  by  the  bells  of  the  other  churches.  Rejoicing 
peals  then  burst  forth  from  all  sides,  accompanied  by  the 
thunder  of  cannon  in  salute  from  the  Peter  and  Paul 
fortress. 

The  procession  left  the  Cathedral  and  the  outer  doors 
were  closed.  The  sanctuary  had  become  empty  and  again 
every  sound  was  hushed. 

The  Tsarevitch  remained  standing  motionless  with  down- 
dropt  head,  gazing  always  in  the  same  absent  way  :  he 
forced  himself  to  hear  nothing,  to  see  nothing. 

From  without  came  the  voice,  broken  and  feeble,  of  the 
Metropolitan,  Stephen  : — 

"  Glory  be  to  the  Holy  Trinity  which  maketh  alive,  one 
and  indivisible,  now  and  for  ever,  throughout  all  ages." 

Then  came  other  voices,  low  and  subdued  as  though 
from  a  distance  : — 

"  Christ  hath  risen  from  the  dead  !  " 
Then  louder  and  louder,  nearer  and  more  joyous  they 
sounded. 

At  last  the  doors  of  the  Cathedral  opened  wide,  and 
together  with  the  noise  of  the  returning  multitude  rang 
forth  the  triumphant  song,  which  shook  the  very  earth  and 
the  heavens  : — 

"  Christ  hath  risen  :  by  His  death  He  hath  overcome 
death,  and  hath  given  life  to  those  who  were  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  grave." 

And  such  fulness  of  joy  was  in  this  hymn  that  nothing 
could  resist  it  :  it  was  as  though  all  those  things  were  about 
to  be  accomplished,  which  creation  had  been  awaiting 
from  the  beginning  of  time  ;  as  if  a  miracle  were  about  to 
take  place. 

The  Tsarevitch  grew  pale,  his  hands  trembled,  he  very 
nearly  let  his  candle  fall.  In  spite  of  himself  his  whole 
being  was  pervaded  by  an  all-pervading  sense  of  joy. 
Life,  suffering,  death  itself  seemed  to  him  to  fade  and 
become  of  no  account  before  it. 

He  burst  into  tears,  and,  in  order  to  conceal  his  emotion, 
he  went  out  upon  the  flight  of  steps  in  front  of  the 
Cathedral. 

The  April  night  was  mild  and  serene.  A  smell  of  thawing 
snow,  of  moist  bark  and  of  unopened  buds  filled  the  air. 


464  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  church  was  surrounded  by  people  ;  below,  in  the  dark 
square,  the  wax  tapers  shone  like  stars,  while  above,  in  the 
dark  heavens,  the  stars  gleamed  like  tapers.  Clouds, 
light  as  angels'  wings,  floated  past.  The  ice  was  thawing 
on  the  Neva.  The  joyous  sound  of  the  rumbling  of  break- 
ing ice  floes  mingled  with  the  peal  of  church  bells.  It 
seemed  as  though  both  earth  and  sky  were  chanting  : 
"  Christ  is  risen  !  " 

After  Mass,  the  Tsar,  coming  out  upon  the  Cathedral 
steps,  exchanged  the  Easter  Greeting  not  only  with  the 
Ministers  and  senators  but  also  with  all  his  servants,  down 
to  the  meanest  kitchen  boy. 

The  Tsarevitch  looked  at  his  father  from  a  distance,  not 
daring  to  draw  dear.  Peter,  however,  saw  his  son  and 
himself  came  up  to  him  : — 

"  Christ  is  risen,  Aliosha,"  he  said,  with  the  old  kindly 
smile. 

"  Truly  He  is  risen,  father  !  " 

And  they  exchanged  three  kisses. 

Alexis  felt  the  familiar  touch  of  the  plump,  clean  shaven 
cheek,  of  the  soft  lips  ;  he  recognized  also  the  familiar 
odour.  And  again,  just  as  in  the  days  of  his  childhood, 
his  heart  began  to  throb  furiously,  and  the  wild  hope  : 
"  What  if  he  should  really  forgive  and  spare  me  !  "  almost 
took  away  his  breath. 

Peter  was  so  tall  that  he  had  to  stoop  nearly  every  time 
that  he  gave  the  kiss,  and  so,  as  his  neck  and  back  began 
to  ache,  he  withdrew  to  the  sanctuary  from  the  besieging 
crowd. 

At  six  o'clock,  when  daylight  had  just  broken,  they  went 
from  the  Cathedral  into  the  Senate  House,  a  low,  long, 
white- washed  building,  like  barracks,  which  adjoined  the 
church.  In  the  narrow  audience  halls  tables  had  been 
spread  with  Kulitchi  and  Paschi ;  eggs,  wine  and  vodka 
to  break  the  fast. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  Senate  House,  James  Dolgorouki 
overtook  the  Tsarevitch  and  whispered  to  him  that  Afros- 
sinia  would  shortly  arrive  in  Petersburg,  that  she  was  well, 
but  that  her  delivery  was  daily  expected. 

In  the  vestibule  the  Tsarevitch  met  Catherine  the  Empress; 
she  looked  young  and  pretty  in  her  gorgeous  robe  made  of 


FATHER  AND  SON  465 

white  brocade,  which  had  the  double  eagle  worked  in  pearls 
and  diamonds  on  the  front  ;  she  wore  the  pale  blue  St. 
Andrew's  ribbon  across  her  shoulder  and  a  diamond  star. 
Her  face,  slightly  touched  up  by  rouge  and  powder,  looked 
young  and  attractive.  Receiving  her  guests,  she,  like  a 
good  hostess,  greeted  them  all  with  her  uniform,  affected 
smile.  She  had  a  smile  for  the  Tsarevitch  also,  and  he 
kissed  her  hand.  She  embraced  him  three  times,  and  they 
exchanged  the  Easter  greeting,  the  red  eggs.  Just  as  she 
was  about  to  leave  him,  suddenly  he  fell  at  her  feet,  and 
cast  upon  her  a  glance  so  distraught  that  she  retreated 
slightly  from  him. 

"  Sovereign  Lady !  Have  pity  upon  me  !  intercede 
with  my  father  on  my  behalf,  so  that  he  may  allow  me  to 
marry  Afrossinia.  I  ask  nothing  else.  God  is  my  witness  ! 
My  life  will  not  be  for  long.  I  should  wish  to  withdraw 
myself  far  from  you,  and  to  die  in  peace.  Have  compassion, 
Mother  !  for  this  joyous  holy  day's  sake  ! " 

And  again  he  looked  at  her  in  such  a  fashion  that  she 
grew  afraid.  Suddenly  her  face  trembled  and  she  began  to 
cry.  Catherine  was  not  averse  to  shedding  tears,  and  was 
in  fact  a  mistress  in  the  art.  Russians  were  in  the  habit  of 
saying  that  she  had  the  gift  of  tears  ;  and  foreigners,  who 
were  not  deceived,  declared  that  she  could  melt  the  heart 
as  surely  as  any  Andromache  on  the  stage.  Yet  now  her 
tears  were  not  feigned  ;  her  pity  was  really  stirred  for  the 
Tsarevitch. 

She  bent  down  to  him  and  kissed  his  forehead.  Under 
the  low  dress  he  perceived  the  ample  white  bosom  with 
two  charming  little  dark  moles — beauty  spots  perhaps. 

"  Poor,  poor  boy  !  would  I  not  do  it  for  you  ?  But  what 
is  the  use  ?  Would  he  allow  himself  to  be  influenced  in  the 
least  degree  ?     I  should  only  injure  your  cause  the  more." 

And  casting  a  furtive  glance  around  to  make  sure  that 
no  one  was  listening,  she  brought  her  lips  close  to  his  ear 
and  hurriedly  whispered  : — 

"  Your  case  is  desperate  ;  my  poor  boy;  so  bad  that  you 
ought  to  fly  at  once ;  leave  everything  and  fly ! " 

In  came  Tolstoi.  Catherine,  leaving  the  Tsarevitch, 
quickly  dried  her  tears  with  a  lace  handkerchief  and  turned 
to  Tolstoi  with  her  usual  cheerful  face,  and  asked  him 

GG 


466  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

whether  he  had  seen  the  Tsar,  and  why  he  delayed  his 
coming. 

On  the  threshold  of  the  door  leading  from  the  adjacent 
hall  appeared  the  tall,  angular  figure  of  a  German  lady, 
dressed  with  no  pretention  to  taste  ;  she  had  a  long,  narrow, 
old-maidish  face,  shaped  somewhat  like  a  horse's  head. 
She  was  a  princess  of  East  Friesland,  ex-maid  of  honour 
to  the  late  Crown  Princess  Charlotte,  and  was  now  acting 
as  governess  of  her  two  orphan  children.  She  had  such  a 
decided,  commanding  air  that  all  involuntarily  made  way 
before  her.  She  carried  the  little  boy  Peter  in  her  arms 
and  led  Natasha,  now  four  years  old,  by  the  hand. 

The  Tsarevitch  scarcely  recognized  his  children  ;  it  was 
so  long  since  he  had  seen  them. 

"  Mais,  saluez  done  monsieur  votre  pere,  mademoiselle  !  " 
whispered  the  old  lady  to  Natasha,  who  had  stopped 
evidently  unable  to  recognize  her  father.  The  little  boy 
first  stared  at  Alexis  in  curiosity,  then  turned  away,  waved 
his  little  arms  and  started  to  cry  aloud. 

"  Natasha,  Natasha,  darling  !  "  said  the  Tsarevitch 
stretching  out  his  arms  to  her. 

She  raised  to  him  her  large  sad  eyes,  pale  blue,  like  her 
mother's,  smiled,  ran  up  to  him  and  threw  her  arms  round 
his  neck. 

In  came  Peter  :  he  glanced  at  the  children  and  said  in  an 
angry  voice  to  the  Princess,  in  German  : 

"  Why  have  you  brought  them  here  ?  This  is  noplace 
for   children.     Go    away  !  " 

The  governess  looked  at  the  Tsar  and  indignation  gleamed 
in  her  kind  eyes  ;  she  was  about  to  reply,  but  seeing  that 
the  Tsarevitch  had  submissively  let  Natasha  go,  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  shook  the  little  boy,  who  had  not 
yet  ceased  his  cries,  angrily  caught  the  little  girl's  hand, 
and  silently  went  out,  with  the  same  commanding  air  which 
she  had  borne  on  entering  the  hall. 

As  she  was  passing  out,  Natasha  turned  round  and  looked 
at  her  father  with  a  glance  which  reminded  him  of  Charlotte. 
The  child's  look  expressed,  like  her  mother's,  resigned 
despair.  Alexis'  heart  contracted.  He  felt  that  he  would 
never  see  his  children  again. 

They  sat  down  to   table.    The  Tsar  between  Feofan 


FATHER  AND  SON  467 

Prokopovitch  and  Stephen  Yavorski.  Opposite  to  them 
the  Kniaz  or  mock-pope  with  the  entire  "  Most  Drunken 
Conclave."  They  had  found  time  to  break  the  fast,  and 
were  ah'eady  beginning  to  squabble. 

For  the  Tsar  this  was  a  double  festival  :  Easter  and  the 
breaking  up  of  the  ice  on  the  Neva.  Dreaming  about  the 
launching  of  new  ships,  he  cheerfully  looked  though  the 
window  upon  the  white  ice  blocks,  which,  bathed  by  the 
morning  sun,  floated  like  swans  on  the  blue  surface. 

The  talk  centred  round  ecclesiastical  affairs. 

"  Father,"  asked  Peter,  addresssing  Feofan,  "  will  our 
Patriarch  soon  be  ready." 

"  Soon,  your  Majesty  !  I  have  almost  completed  his 
cassock,"  answered  the  prelate. 

"  And  I  have  already  finished  his  hat,"  laughed  the 
Tsar. 

The  "  Patriarch  "  was  none  other  than  the  Holy  Synod, 
the  "  Cassock "  signified  the  ecclesiastical  regulations 
which  Feofan  was  drawing  up;  the  "Hat"  the  ukase 
which  instituted  the  Holy  Synod. 

When  Feofan  began  to  speak  of  the  utility  of  this  new 
college  every  feature  of  his  face  lighted  up  and  began  to 
twinkle  with  almost  exaggerated  merriment  :  it  sometimes 
seemed  as  if  he  himself  were  laughing  at  his  own  words. 

"  A  College  will  exercise  a  more  liberal  spirit  than  is 
possible  to  any  single  director.  The  fact  also  should  not 
be  overlooked. that  a  College  presents  no  spirit  of  antagonism 
to  the  government.  For  the  people  do  not  recognize  the 
difference  which  exists  between  the  Spiritual  and  the 
Temporal  powers,  and  when  they  behold  the  glory  and 
honour  which  surrounds  a  pontiff,  they  think  that  he  is 
a  second  Tsar,  co-equal,  or  even  greater  than  he.  And 
when  a  dispute  arises  between  the  two,  all  will  range  them- 
selves on  the  side  of  the  Spiritual,  rather  than  worldly  lord, 
flattering  themselves  that  by  so  doing  they  are  serving 
God's  cause,  and  that  far  from  defiling,  they  are  even 
sanctifying  themselves  by  the  shedding  of  blood.  The 
evils  which  this  error  calls  forth  are  indescribable.  A 
survey  of  the  history  of  Constantinople,  prior  to  the  time 
of  Justinian,  proves  this.  The  Papacy  gained  ascendancy 
by  no  other  means  ;   it  divided  the  Roman  Empire,  arro- 


468  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

gated  to  itself  immense  power,  and  brought  about  the  ruin 
of  several  kingdoms.  There  is  no  need  to  recall  similar 
facts  in  our  own  history  !  Such  evils  are  impossible  in  an 
ecclesiastical  college.  The  people  will  become  peaceable 
and  will  abandon  all  hope  of  winning  the  support  of  the 
clergy  in  their  rebellions.  Lastly,  a  spiritual  college 
will  be  to  a  certain  extent  a  school  of  clerical  adminis- 
tration, where  the  members  can  learn  with  ease  the  science 
of  politics.  Let  us  hope  that  in  Russia,  with  the  help  of 
God,  the  time  will  soon  come  when  the  clergy  will  lose 
their  uncouthness,  and  that  the  future  will  bring  us  great 
goodness  as  the  result  of  our  labour." 

The  bishop  looking  straight  at  the  Tsar  with  an  obse- 
quious smile,  in  which  cunning  curiously  bordered  on  imper- 
tinence, and  concluded  with  the  solemn  words  : — 

"  Thou  art  Peter,  and  upon  this  rock  will  I  build  My 
Church  !  " 

Silence  followed.  Only  the  fraternity  of  the  "  Most 
Drunken  Conclave  "  continued  their  uproar  ;  the  honest 
Prince  James  Dolgorouki  murmured,  so  that  no  one  could 
hear    him  : — 

"  Render  to  God  the  things  that  are  God's,  and  unto 
Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's." 

"  And  you.  Father,  what  think  you  of  this  business  ?  " 
said  the  Tsar  to  Stephen. 

While  Prokopovitch  was  speaking,  Stephen  had  kept 
his  head  lowered,  his  eyes  closed,  as  though  asleep  ;  and 
his  old  bloodless  face  seemed  dead.  Yet  Peter  thought  that 
h3  discerned  in  this  face  what  he  most  feared  and  hated  : 
the  quiet  spirit  of  the  rebel.  Hearing  the  Tsar's  voice 
the  old  man  started  up,  as  though  awaking  from  a  doze, 
and  gently  said  : — 

"  How  can  I,  your  Majesty,  speak  on  such  a  subject  as 
this  !  I  am  old  and  foolish.  Let  the  young  talk,  we  old 
ones  will  listen." 

He  inclined  his  head  lower  still  and  added  in  a  murmur  : — ■ 

"  It  is  impossible  to  sail  against  the  wind." 

"  Old  man  !  You  are  always  whining,"  retorted  the 
Tsar,  shrugging  his  shoulders  in  vexation;  "  what  do  you 
want  ?     Out  with  it  !  " 

Stephen  looked  at  the  Tsar  and  seemed  to  shrink  within 


FATHER  AND  SON  469 

himself.  His  whole  bearing  expressed  humility,  without 
a  shade  of  the  rebellious  spirit.  He  began  to  speak  in  a 
hurried  eager  voice,  as  though  afraid  the  Tsar  would  not 
hear  all  he  had  to  say  : — 

"  Most  gracious  Sovereign  !  Give  me  leave  to  retire  in 
peace  and  quietness  !  My  services  are  known  to  God, 
partly  also  to  your  Majest}',  and  I  have  spent  on  them  my 
strength,  my  health,  and  I  might  say  my  life.  My  eyesight 
is  growing  dim,  my  limbs  weak ;  gout  has  wrung  my  fingers, 
and  I  suffer  from  other  maladies.  Your  Majesty's  favour 
and  fatherly  protection  have  hitherto  sustained  me  in  the 
hours  of  trial,  and  thereby  all  sorrow  seemed  to  lose  its 
bitterness.  Yet  now  I  see  your  face  turned  away  from  me, 
and  your  graciousness  is  withdrawn.  Sire,  whence  comes 
this  change  ?  " 

Peter  had  long  before  this  ceased  to  listen  to  him.  He 
was  absorbed  in  the  performence  of  the  princess-abbess 
Rjevsky,  who  kept  bending  almost  to  her  knees  and  then 
darting  forward  one  foot  after  the  other  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  many  drunken  voices  : — 

Come  beat  a  livelier  strain  ! 
Blow  loudly  now  my  pipe  ! 

"  Give  me  leave  to  retire  to  the  Donskoi  monastery  or 
wherever  your  Majesty  chooses  to  permit,"  continued 
.Stephen  in  a  plaintive  tone,  "  and  should  you  have  doubts 
as  to  my  motives,  I  pray  that  God's  means  of  grace  may 
serve  only  for  my  undoing,  if  I  harbour  any  evil  designs. 
Whether  it  be  at  Pertersburg,  at  Moscow,  or  at  Riazan,  I 
shall  still  remain  in  your  sovereign  power,  from  which  I 
should  neither  be  able  to  escape,  nor  have  cause  for  desiring 
to  do  so." 

Meanwhile  the  singing  continued  in  full  swing  : — 

Come  beat  a  livelier  strain  ! 

Blow  loudly  now,  my  pipe  ! 

For  my  fatiier-in-law  has  tumbled  asleep. 

From  the  stove  to  the  log-heap,  O  ! 

Oh,  if  I  had  only  known. 

Or  had  this  chance  foreseen  ; 

He'd  have  got  a  longer  drop, 

And  cracked  his  skull  I  ween  ! 

O,  my  luck,  O  ! 


470  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  Tsar  stamped  his  feet  and  thumped  his  knee, 
whistling  the  air  : 

Ah,  burn,  burn 

The  Tsarevitch  glanced  at  Stephen  ;  their  eyes  met.  The 
old  man  stopped  short  as  though  coming  to  himself.  With 
a  shamefaced  expression  he  cast  down  his  eyes,  and  lowered 
his  face,  while  two  tears  rolled  along  his  wrinkles.  His 
face  again  wore  the  lifeless  expression.  Feofan,  the  new 
red-faced  Silenus  archbishop,  was  scornfully  smiling. 

The  Tsarevitch  involuntarily  compared  the  two  faces. 
The  one  reflected  the  Church's  Past ;  the  other  bore  the 
promise  of  its  Future. 

The  air  was  becoming  close  in  the  small,  low  halls,  and 
Peter  ordered  the  windows  to  be  opened.  A  cold  wind 
coming  from  Lake  Ladoga  blew  across  the  Neva,  a  common 
occurrence  at  the  time  of  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice.  Spring 
had  all  at  once  changed  to  Autumn.  The  clouds,  v*'hich 
in  the  night  had  seemed  light  as  the  wings  of  angels,  had 
become  lowering,  dark  and  heavy  like  great  boulders  ;  the 
sun  grew  weak  and  its  rays  wore  a  sickly  aspect. 

From  the  tavernr,  which  were  very  numerous  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  Gostinny  Dvor,  and  on  the  further 
side  of  the  Royal  works  in  the  Food  and  Tolkoolchi  markets, 
rose  a  sound  of  voices  like  the  roaring  of  wild  beasts.  Some- 
where near  a  fight  was  in  progress  and  a  voice  cried  : — 

"  Hit  him  again  !  He  is  too  well-fed  and  sleek,  that 
fellow  !  " 

And  the  deafening  sound  of  the  church  bells,  which 
entered  through  the  open  window  together  with  this 
drunken  uproar,  seemed  also  drunk,  coarse  and  insolent. 

In  front  of  the  Senate  House,  in  the  middle  of  the  square, 
a  moujik  was  standing  over  a  dirty  pool  on  which  floated 
the  red  shells  of  Easter  eggs.  He  had  nothing  on  except 
his  shirt,  the  rest  of  his  clothing  had  probably  been  pawned 
at  the  wine  shop.  As  he  staggered  along  he  appeared  to  be 
trying  to  make  up  his  mind  whether  or  no  he  should  tumble 
into  the  pool  :  his  speech  was  freely  interlarded  with  oaths, 
and  broken  by  hiccoughs.  Another  poor  wretch  had  fallen 
into  a  ditch,  and  his  bare  legs  sticking  out  waved  helj^lessly 
in  the  air.     The  rigorous  authority  of  the  police  was,  on 


i 


FATHER  AND  SON  471 

this  day,  quite  powerless  to  cope  with  the  drunkards,  whose 
prostrate  bodies  lay  about  in  the  streets  as  thickly  as  the 
slain  on  a  battlefield.  The  whole  town  was  nothing  but 
an  immense  tavern. 

The  Senate  House  where  the  Tsar  sat  feasting  with  his 
Ministers  was  part  of  this  tavern.  Here  also  the  guests 
were  shouting,  reviling  and  fighting  one  another. 

The  Kniaz-Pope's  burlesque  choir,  was  attempting  to 
rival  the  cathedral  choir.     The  one  sang  : — 

Christ  hath  risen  ! 

The  other  replied  with  : — 

Come  beat  a  liveUer  strain  ! 
Blow  loudly  now,  my  pipe  ! 

The  Tsarevitch  recalled  the  holy  night,  the  holy  joy,  the 
depth  of  past  emotion,  the  expectation  of  a  miracle,  and  he 
felt  as  if  he  had  fallen  from  heaven  itself  into  the  mire  ; 
like  the  sot  who  was  lying  in  the  gutter  without.  Bitter 
feehngs  took  possession  of  him.  What  was  the  good  of 
beginning  Easter  as  they  had  done,  if  this  was  to  be  the 
close  ?  There  is  not,  neither  will  there  be,  any  miracle,  but 
only  the  "  abomination  of  desolation  "  in  the  Holy  Place,  to 
the  very  end ! 


CHAPTER    II 

PETER  was  no  less  fond  of  Peterhof  than  he  was  of  his 
"  Paradise."  He  went  there  each  summer,  and 
personally  supervised  the  laying  out  of  pleasure  gardens, 
vegetable  beds,  ornamental  cascades  of  fountains.  He 
ordered  that  one  cascade  was  to  be  broken  and  rough  with 
foam,  another,  on  the  contrary,  was  to  fall  with  a  surface 
smooth  as  glass  ;  a  pyramid  of  water  was  to  be  designed 
by  means  of  a  series  of  small  cascades.  In  front  of  the  one 
which  formed  the  apex  the  legend  of  Hercules  contending 
with  the  seven-headed  Hydra  was  to  be  represented  ; 
from  the  seven  heads  jets  of  water  were  to  shoot  ;  while 
further  down  the  car  of  Neptune  was  to  appear,  drawn  by 
four  sea-horses  which  also  gave  forth  sprays  of  water. 
Forming  the  border  of  this  central  group  were  Tritons 
blowing  their  conchs  from  which  jets  played  in  different 
directions.  Designs  were  to  be  prepared  for  the  arrangement 
of  each  fountain  and  of  the  landscape  which  was  to  sur- 
round it ;  and  the  latter  were  to  resemble  French  and 
Roman   gardens. 

A  pale  May  night  lay  over  Peterhof.  The  sea  was  as 
calm  as  a  mirror.  Against  a  green  sky  shot  with  pink 
mother-of-pearl  hues,  were  outlined  the  dark  firs  and  the 
yellow  walls  of  the  palace.  The  dim  windows,  like  blind 
eyes,  reflected  the  light  of  the  coming  dawn.  In  this  light 
everything  looked  pale  and  faded,  the  green  of  the  grass 
and  of  the  trees  was  ashen  grey,  the  flowers  were  as  things 
dead,  and  all  was  still  in  the  empty  gardens.  The  fountains 
slept.  Only  from  the  mossy  banks  of  the  casades,  and  from 
the  porous  stones,  which  formed  the  walls  of  grottos,  drops 
fell  from  time  to  time  like  tears. 

A  mist  was  rising,  and  in  it  gleamed  like  phantoms 
countless  marble  gods,  a  com]:)lete  Olympus  of  risen  deities. 


FATHER  AND  SON  473 

Here  on  the  very  verge  of  the  world,  near  to  the  Hyper- 
borean sea,  in  this  pale  night,  which  resembled  the  twilight 
of  Hades,  the  dim  shadows  of  dead  Hellas  wore  an  aspect  of 
infinite  sadness  ;  as  though,  having  risen  they  were  dying 
a  second  death  from  which  there  should  be  no  awaken- 
ing. 

Overlooking  the  close-clipt  garden  close  to  the  sea,  stood 
a  small  Dutch  house,  roofed  with  tiles,  the  Tsar's  palace 
Monplaisir.  Here  too  all  was  quiet  and  empty.  One 
window  only  was  lighted,  and  that  by  a  single  candle,  which 
was  burning  in  the  Tsar's  office. 

At  the  writing  table  sat  Peter  and  Alexis  facing  one 
another  in  the  double  light  of  candle  and  dawn.  Their  faces, 
in  harmony  with  all  their  surroundings,  were  pale  and 
spectre-like. 

For  the  first  time  since  his  return  to  Petersburg  the  Tsar 
was  questioning  his  son.  The  Tsarevitch  answered  in  a 
calm  voice  ;  he  no  longer  dreaded  his  father,  but  only  felt 
weary  and  dejected. 

"  Who  among  the  clergy  or  laity  knew  anything  of  your 
revolutionary  designs,  and  what  words  passed  between  you 
on  this  subject  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  beyond  what  I  have  already  admitted," 
replied  Alexis,  for  the  hundredth  time. 

"  Have  you  never  said,  '  I  spit  upon  them  all,  provided 
the  mob  are  staunch  to  me.'  " 

"  Perhaps  I  did  say  that.  I  was  drunk.  I  cannot 
remember  .  everything.  When  drunk  I  always  speak 
without  thought  and  with  an  absolutely  unbridled  tongue  ; 
therefore  it  is  quite  possible  that  I  spoke  defiantly  in 
company,  and  gave  vent  to  some  such  expression.  You 
know  yourself.  Father,  that  a  drunken  man  is  no  longer  a 
human  being But  what  does  it  matter  !  " 

He  looked  at  his  father  with  so  strange  a  smile  that  the 
father  felt  a  shudder  pass  over  him,  as  though  a  madman 
were  sitting  opposite  to  him. 

Having  searched  among  some  papers,  Peter  pulled  one 
out  and  showed  it  to  the  Tsarevitch. 

*'  Is  this  your  handwriting  ?  " 

"  It    IS." 

It  was  the   rough  draft  of    the    letter  which  he   had 


474  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

written  in  Naples  to  the  Prelates  and  Senators,  beseeching 
them  not  to  abandon  him. 

'"  Bid  you  write  this  of  your  own  free  will  ?  " 

"  No,  I  was  forced  to  write  it  by  Count  Schonborn's 
secretary,  Kiihl,  '  because,'  said  he,  '  it  is  rumoured  that 
you  are  dead  :  if  you  refuse  to  write,  the  Emperor,  in  his 
turn,  will  refuse  to  keep  you  ;  '  and  he  did  not  leave  me 
until  I  had  written  it." 

Peter  pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  following  passage  in 
the  letter  : — 

"  I  beseech  you  now  not  to  abandon  me  now."  The 
word  now  had  been  repeated  and  both  times  had  been 
crossed  out. 

"  Why  have  you  written  '  now  '  and  why  have  you  drawn 
your  pen  through  the  word  ?  " 

"  I  can  no  longer  remember,"  answered  Alexis,  growing 
yet  more  pale. 

He  knew  that  this  crossed  out  now  was  the  sole  key  to 
his  most  secret  thoughts  with  regard  to  the  rebelllion,  his 
father's  death,  and  his  possible  murder. 

"  Has  this  been  really  written  under  pressure  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly.  " 

Peter  rose,  went  into  the  next  room,  called  an  orderly, 
gave  him  some  order,  then  returned  to  his  table  and  began 
to  write  down  his  son's  depositions. 

Footsteps  were  heard  outside  the  door.  It  opened,  and 
Alexis  gave  a  feeble  cry  as  though  he  were  about  to  faint  : 
on  the  threshold  stood  Afrossinia. 

He  had  not  seen  her  since  he  left  Naples.  No  longer  with 
child,  she  had  probably  been  delivered  in  the  fortress  where, 
as  James  Dolgorouki  had  told  him,  ^he  had  been  incar- 
cerated on  her  arrival  in  Petersburg.  "  \^"here  is  the  child  ?  " 
thought  the  Tsarevitch.  He  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 
His  first  impulse  was  to  rush  towards  her,  but  his  father's 
steadfast  gaze  checked  him,  and  he  remained  rooted  to  the 
spot.  Only  his  eyes  sought  to  meet  hers,  but  she  seemed 
unconscious  of  his  presence. 

Peter  addressed  her  in  a  kind  voice  : — 

"  Is  it  true,  Afrossinia,  as  the  Tsarevitch  tells  me,  that 
he  was  compelled  by  the  Emperor  to  write  this  letter  to 
the  Bishops  and  Senators  ?  " 


FATHER  AND  SON  475 

"  It  is  false,"  she  replied,  in  a  calm  voice  ;  "no  stranger 
was  present,  I  alone  was  in  the  room  with  the  Tsarevitch 
at  the  time.  He  told  me  he  was  writing  some  letters  which 
were  to  be  distributed  secretly  in  Petersburg,  while  others 
were  to  be  sent  to  the  Bishops  and  Senates." 

"  Afrossinia  !  Afrossinia  !  ^^  hat  are  you  saying  !  " 
stammered  Alexis  in  terror. 

"  She  knows  nothing,  she  has  forgotten,  or  mixed  it  all 
up,"  said  he  to  his  father,  with  that  strange  sinister  smile 
of  his.  "  I  was  then  sending  to  the  Viceroy's  secretary  the 
plan  of  the  Belgorod  attack,  and  not  this  letter." 

"  This  very  same,  Tsarevitch  ;  you  wrote  and  sealed 
it  in  my  presence.  Have  you  forgotten  !  I  saw  it,"  she 
continued  in  the  same  calm  tone.  Then  all  at  once  she 
darted  at  him  that  very  glance  with  which  she  had  con- 
fronted him,  when,  three  years  ago,  in  \'iasemsky's  house 
with  a  knife  in  his  hand  and  drunk,  he  had  threatened  her 
with  violence. 

This  look  told  him  that  she  had  betrayed  him. 

"  My  son,"  said  Peter,  "'  you  yourself  must  see  that 
this  is  a  matter  of  grave  importance.  If  these  letters  were 
written  of  your  own  free  will,  it  is  clear  that  your  projects 
for  revolutionary  measures  were  not  vague  and  undelined, 
but  that  you  counted  on  being  able  to  put  them  into 
execution.  In  the  avowals  which  you  have  made  you  have 
passed  over  this  fact  not  through  forgetfulness,  but  of  set 
purpose,  in  order  that  you  might  continue  to  work  for  the 
realization  of  your  schemes.  However,  I  do  not  wish  to 
bear  an  uneasy  conscience  and  to  accept  accusations  with- 
out full  enquiry.  For  the  last  time  I  ask  you,  Did  you 
write  it  of  your  own  free  will  ?  " 

The  Tsarevitch  remained  silent. 

"  I  regret  the  necessity,  Afrossinia,"  said  Peter,"  I 
cannot  help  it,  but  you  must  be  handed  over  to  official 
interrogation." 

Alexis  glanced  at  his  father,  and  then  at  Afrossinia,  and 
fully  realized  that  if  he  persisted  in  maintaining  silence 
she  would  be  delivered  up  to  torture. 

"  I  confess  it,"  he  said  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible,  but 
the  next  moment  all  his  fear  departed  and  he  felt  quite 
indifferent  to  all  things.  Peter's  eyes  flashed  with  undis- 
guised joy. 


476  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  For  what  purpose  did  you  write  the  word  '  now  ?  '  " 

"  In  order  that  the  people  might  take  my  side,  in  the 
behef  that  the  reports  of  mihtary  risings  in  Mecklenburg 
were  true.  And  then  thinking  that  this  was  wrong  I  crossed 
out  the  word." 

"  Which  means  that  you  rejoiced  to  hear  of  these  risings?" 

The  Tsarevitch  did  not  reply. 

"  And  if  you  were  glad,"  continued  Peter,  as  though  he 
had  heard  an  answer,  "  you  intended  to  join  the  revolu- 
tionists ?  " 

"  If  they  had  sent  for  me  I  would  have  joined  them.  I 
expected  a  summons  after  your  death,  because " 

He  stopped,  grew  yet  more  pale,  and  finished  with 
obvious  difBculty  : — 

"  Because  they  wished  to  assassinate  you,  but  I  did  not 
think  that  there  was  any  design  for  depriving  you  of  the 
empire  during  your  lifetime." 

"  But  if  there  had  been  such  a  design  ?  "  asked  Peter 
quietly,  with  a  side  glance  at  his  son. 

"  If  I  had  had  the  people  with  me  in  sufficient  force, 
even  during  your  lifetime  I  should  have  laid  claim  to  the 
empire,"  answered  Alexis  in  the  same  low  lone. 

'"Declare  all  you  know,"  ordered  Peter,  turning  to 
Afrossinia. 

"  The  Tsarevitch  has  always  ardently  desired  to  rule," 
she  began,  in  a  quick  decisive  tone  as  though  repeating 
something  which  she  had  learnt  by  heart.  "  He  ran  away 
because  your  Majesty  was  supposed  to  be  trying  to  kill  him 
by  some  means  or  other.  When  he  learnt  that  your 
youngest  son,  the  Tsarevitch  Peter  Petrovitch,  was  ill, 
he  said,  to  me  :  '  You  see  my  father  takes  his  own  course, 
while  God  wills  another  .'  He  also  counted  upon  the 
Senators  :  '  I  will  turn  out  all  the  old  ones  and  replace  them 
by  new  ones,  of  my  own  choice  !  And  whenever  he  heard 
tell  of  proj:)hetic  visions,  or  read  in  the  journals  that  all 
was  quiet  in  Petersburg,  he  used  to  say  that  these  visions 
and  this  tranquillity  were  significant  :  '  Either  my  father 
will  die,  or  a  rebellion  will  break  out '."  She  con- 
tinued to  speak  for  some  length  of  time  ;  she  repeated 
expressions  of  his  which  he  no  longer  remembered  to  have 
used,  and  she  laid  bare  his  innermost  thoughts,  thoughts 


FATHER  AND  SON  477 

which  he  had  not  even  dared  to  confess  to  himself.  "  When 
Tolstoi  arrived  in  Naples,  the  Tsarevitch  wished  to  give 
up  the  Emperor  and  place  himself  under  the  protection 
of  the  Pope,  It  was  I  who  kept  him  back  from  doing  so," 
concluded  Afrossinia. 

"  Is  all  this  true  ?  "  Peter  asked  his  son, 

"  It  is,"  answered  the  Tsarevitch. 

"  You  may  go  now,  Afrossinia.     Thank  you  !  " 

The  Tsar  gave  her  his  hand  :  she  kissed  it,  and  turned 
away  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Afrossinia  !  Afrossinia  !  "  stammered  the  Tsarevitch, 
with  a  convulsive  movement  of  his  whole  body  towards  her, 
and  as  if  unconscious  of  what  he  was  saying  "  Farewell, 
Afrossinia !  Perhaps  we  shall  never  meet  again.  The  Lord 
be  with  you  !  " 

She  neither  answered  nor  gave  him  a  look. 

"  Why  do  you  treat  me  like  this  ?  "  he  added  in  a  very 
low  tone.  There  was  no  reproach  in  his  voice,  only  infinite 
astonishment.  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  heard 
the  door  close  behind  her. 

Peter  made  a  pretence  of  reading  some  papers,  but  he 
glanced  furtively  from  time  to  time  at  his  son.  He  seemed 
slightly  moved  and  expectant. 

It  was  the  calmest  hour  of  the  night,  and  the  calm  seemed 
all  the  more  intense,  for  it  was  as  light  as  day. 

Suddenly  the  Tsarevitch  removed  his  hands  from  his 
face,  and  the  expression  upon  it  was  dreadful. 

"  Where  is  the  child  ?  Where  has  it  been  taken  to  ?  " 
he  demanded,  fixing  a  feverish  gaze  upon  his  father, 
"  What  has  happened  to  it  ?  " 

"  What  child  ?  "  asked  Peter,  not  understanding  him 
all  at  once. 

The  Tsarevitch  pointed  to  the  door  through  which 
Afrossinia  had  disappeared. 

"  It  is  dead,"  answered  Peter,  avoiding  his  son's  glance. 
"  It  never  lived." 

"  That  is  a  lie,"  exclaimed  Alexis,  raising  his  fists  as 
though  threatening  his  father.  "It  has  been  killed  ! 
Strangled,  or  else  drowned  like  a  whelp  !  Why  has  this 
been  done  to  him,  innocent  babe  as  he  was  ? — It  was  a 
boy  ?  " 


478  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  Yes." 

"If  God  had  granted  to  me  to  rule  over  this  country," 
continued    Alexis    thoughtfully,    as    though   speaking   to 

himself,"  I  would  have  made  him  my  heir I  meant  to 

call  him  Ivan — Tsar  Ivan  Alexejevitch.  The  body — 
where  is  it  ?     What  has  been  done  with  it Speak  !  " 

Peter  remained  silent. 

Alexis  clutched  his  head  with  his  hands  ;  his  face  became 
convulsed  and  purple.  He  remembered  the  Tsar's  custom 
of  laying  stillborn  children  in  spirits  of  wine,  and  preserving 
them  along  with  other  curiosities  in  his  museum. 

"  You  have  sealed  him  up  in  a  glass  jar,  a  glass  jar  with 

spirits  of  wine  ! The   heir  of  the  Tsars  of   Russia 

swimming  in  spirits  of  wine,  like  a  frog  !  "  He  burst  out 
into  such  wild  laughter  that  Peter  shuddered  all  over. 
"  A  madman,"  he  again  thought,  and  he  felt  that  intense 
loathing  for  his  son  which  the  sight  of  spiders,  cockroaches 
and  reptiles  always  roused  in  him. 

But  this  feeling  soon  gave  place  to  the  blindest  rage. 
His  son  was  holding  him  in  derision,  and  was  purposely 
playing  the  madman  so  as  to  escape  any  further  inquiry  into 
his  past  deeds. 

"  What  else  have  you  to  confess  ?  "  he  asked  ;  thus 
renewing  the  interrogation  without  deigning  to  notice 
the  condition  of  Alexis. 

The  laughter  of  the  latter  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
burst  forth.  He  threw  back  his  head  until  it  rested  on  the 
back  of  the  arm-chair,  and  turned  pale  as  death.  He 
remained  silent,  but  his  blank  gaze  was  fastened  upon  his 
father. 

"  If  you  were  reckoning  upon  the  support  of  the  people," 
continued  Peter,  raising  his  voice  and  forcing  himself  to 
appear  calm,  "  did  you  not  send  envoys  to  prepare  them  for 
the  rising  ?  or  perhaps  you  had  learnt  that  they  were  already 
prepared  ?  " 

Alexis  remained  silent. 

"  Speak  !  "  cried  Peter,  and  his  face  became  convulsed 
with  rage. 

The  face  of  Alexis  quivered.  He  opened  his  lips  with 
difficulty,  and  said  : — 

"  I  have  told  you  everything.     I  shall  say  no  more." 


FATHER  AND  SON  479 

Peter  struck  the  table  with  his  fist  and  bounded  to  his 
feet  :— 

"How  dare   you  ?  " 

The  Tsarevitch  too  had  risen  and  was  looking  stead- 
fastly at  his  father.  There  was  a  strange  and  momentary 
resemblance  between  these  two  faces. 

"  Why  use  threats,  Father  ?  "  said  Alexis  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  am  not  afraid  of  you.  I  fear  nothing,  You  have  taken 
everything  from  me  ;  you  have  destroyed  everything  in 
me,  body  and  soul.  Nothing  else  remains.  You  can  kill 
me.     Do  so.     I  am  quite  indifferent." 

His  lips  moved  with  a  slight  smile,  in  which  Peter  read 
only  supreme  contempt.  His  fury  burst  all  bounds,  and 
roaring  like  a  wounded  beast,  he  thi-ew  himself  upon  his 
son,  seized  him  by  the  throat,  and,  hurling  him  to  the 
ground,  began  to  kick  him  and  to  beat  him  with  his  stick, 
giving  vent  the  while  to  the  same  inhuman  roar. 

In  the  palace,  people  woke  in  terror  from  their  sleep,  and 
hurried  to  the  quarter  whence  these  sounds  came.  But 
no  one  dared  to  enter  the  room  of  the  Tsar.  With  blanched 
face,  each  one  crossed  himself  as  he  approached  the  door 
and  heard  that  sinister  sound  :  there  behind  the  closed 
door  a  wild  beast  might  be  tearing  in  pieces  a  human  being. 

The  Tsaritsa  was  sleeping  on  an  upper  story  of  the 
palace  ;  she  was  hastily  roused  by  attendants  and  came 
down  half  dressed  :  but  she  no  more  than  the  rest  could 
summon  sufficient  courage  to  enter.  Only  when  silence 
at  length  reigned  in  the  room  did  she  half  open  the  door, 
look  within,  and  ghde  on  tip-toe  behind  her  husband. 

The  Tsarevitch  lay  on  the  floor  in  a  dead  faint.  The 
Tsar  had  sunk  back  into  a  chair,  almost  in  a  state  of 
unconsciousness  himself. 

The  Court  physician,  Blumentrost,  was  sent  for.  He 
reassured  Catherine,  who  feared  that  the  Tsar  had  killed 
his  son.  The  Tsarevitch  had  been  sorely  beaten,  but  na 
serious  wounds  nor  fractures  were  dixovered.  He  soon 
regained  consciousness  and  seemed  calm. 

The  Tsar  was  in  a  worse  condition  than  his  son.  When 
he  had  been  broueht,  almost  arried,  into  his  bedchamber, 
he  was  seized  with  such  violent  convulsions  that  Blumen. 
trost  feared  paralysis. 


48o  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

In  the  morning  he  felt  better.  Towards  evening  he  got 
up,  and  notwithstanding  Catherine's  entreaties  and  the 
physician's  advice  he  ordered  a  boat  and  went  to  Peters- 
burg. The  Tsarevitch  followed  in  a  closed  boat  at  the  same 
time. 

The  next  day,  on  May  14,  a  second  manifesto  concerning 
the  Tsarevitch  was  published,  in  which  it  was  declared  that 
the  Tsar  had  promised  to  grant  his  son  a  pardon  on  the 
understanding  that  he  sincerely  repented  and  made  a  full 
confession  of  his  misdeeds  ;  but  since  Alexis,  in  contempt 
of  this  proffered  favour,  had  concealed  his  plot  for  making 
himself  master  of  the  empire  with  the  aid  of  foreigners  or 
Russian  revolutionists,  the  pardon  thus  offered  was  hereby 
annulled  and  cancelled." 

On  the  same  day  it  was  decided  that  the  Tsarevitch 
should  be  tried  in  the  High  Court  as  a  traitor  to  the  state. 

A  month  later,  on  June  14,  he  was  conducted  to  the 
fortress  of  Peter  and  Paul,  and  lodged  as  a  prisoner  in  the 
Troubejkoi  wing  of  it. 


CHAPTER    III 

"  ^Tp'O  the  Most  Reverend  Metropolitans,  Archbishop, 
A  Bishops  and  other  members  of  the  Clergy. 
"  You  are  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  fact  of  the 
unprecedented  transgression  of  my  son  against  me,  his 
father  and  sovereign.  I  possess  full  power,  moral  and 
judicial,  and  especially  according  to  Russian  law,  by  which 
parents  even  in  their  private  homes  exercise  many  rights 
over  their  children,  to  deal  with  him  for  this  his  transgression 
according  to  the  dictates  of  my  own  will,  without  consulting 
the  opinion  of  others.  Notwithstanding  this,  I  fear  to  sin 
before  God.  It  is  evident  that  each  one  is  less  competent 
to  judge  clearly  his  own  affairs  than  those  of  other  people  ; 
a  doctor,  even  the  most  skilful,  does  not  prescribe  for  his 
own  ailment,  but  has  recourse  to  other  members  of  his 
profession.  In  like  manner  do  I  now  confide  to  your  care 
this  malady  of  mine,  and  I  ask  you  to  heal  it,  because  I 
fear  eternal  death.  If  I  had  taken  in  hand  my  own  cure 
I  should  never  have  realized  the  serious  nature  of  that 
malady  and  the  grave  importance  which  attaches  to  the 
fact  that  I  swore  before  God  to  my  son,  both  by  letter  and 
word  of  mouth,  to  pardon  him  if  he  made  full  confession  of 
his  guilt.  And  though  he  broke  the  agreement  by  con- 
cealing the  most  important  point,  namely,  his  projected 
rebellion  against  us,  his  Father  and  his  Tsar,  yet  we  remem- 
bering the  word  of  God  which,  in  the  17th  Chapter  of 
Deuteronomy,  enjoins  that  appeal  be  made  in  such  a  case 
to  the  clergy,  our  will  is  but  that  you  Archbishops  and 
Priests  who  set  forth  the  word  of  God,  do  search  in  the 
Scriptures  for  some  indication  of  the  punishment  which 
befits  our  son  for  his  ungodly  and  Absalom-like  conduct 
towards  us.  You  will  seek  in  all  setting  forth  of  the  divine 
laws,  and  in  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  you  will  report  unto 

*^'  HH 


482  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

us  your  finding  in  writing,  signed  by  your  own  hand.  We 
shall  then  be  able  without  adding  to  the  weight  of  our 
conscience  to  come  to  a  clear  decision  in  this  matter.  We 
confide  ourselves  to  you — the  revered  guardians  of  God's 
laws,  the  faithful  shepherds  of  Christ's  flock  and  the  zealous 
protectors  of  the  Fatherland,  and  we  conjure  you  by  virtue 
of  your  holy  office  to  act  in  this  matter  with  integrity  and 
impartiality. 

"  Peter." 

The  prelates  replied  : — 

"  This  is  a  case  in  which  arbitrament  belongs  to  the  civil 
rather  than  to  the  spiritual  tribunal.  He  in  whom  sovereign 
power  resides  cannot  be  judged  by  his  subjects,  but  he 
ought  to  act  in  accordance  with  his  own  wishes  and  private 
judgment,  without  taking  counsel  of  those  whose  position  is 
that  of  obedient  submission  to  his  will.  However,  since 
we  have  been  commanded  to  do  so,  we  herewith  lay  before 
you  those  passages  in  the  Holy  Scriptures  which  may  be 
cited  as  bearing  upon  this  terrible  and  unprecedented 
crime." 

Then  followed  quotations  from  the  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ments, and  in  conclusion  : — 

"  This  matter  does  not  come  within  our  province  ;  for 
who  has  raised  us  to  the  position  of  judges  of  him  whom 
we  recognize  as  Lord  and  Master  ?  How  can  the  members 
afford  counsel  to  the  head  when  they  themselves  depend 
upon  its  guidance  and  are  swayed  by  it  ?  Besides,  our 
judgment  can  only  be  a  spiritual  one.  Tne  power  of  the 
sword  of  steel  is  not  vested  in  the  Church,  but  the  power 
of  the  sword  of  the  spirit  only.  All  this  we  submit  to  the 
monarch's  consideration  with  profound  humility,  and  we 
propose  to  him  that  he  act  in  this  matter  as  may  seem  best 
in  his  own  eyes.  Should  he  desire  to  chastise  the  guilty 
according  to  the  measure  of  his  guilt,  he  has  the  example 
of  the  Old  Testament  ;  whereas  if  he  desire  to  show  grace, 
he  has  the  example  of  Christ  Himself,  who  pardoned  the 
prodigal  son,  and  preferred  mercy  to  sacrifice. 

"  In  short,  the  monarch's  heart  is  in  the  hand  of  God. 
May  he  choose  that  part  to  which  God  inclines  him  !  " 

It  was  signed  : 

"  The  humble  Stephen,  Metropolitan  of  Riazan  ; 


FATHER  AND  SON  483 

"The  humble   Feofan,   Bishop  of  Pskoff." 
Also  by  four  bishops,  two  Greek  Metropolitans,  those  of 
Stavropol  and  Thyphaid,   four  archimandrites,  including 
Theodosius,  and  two   head-monks — all  future  members  of 
the  Holy  Synod. 

To  the  Tsar's  main  question,  concerning  the  oath  which 
he  had  passed  to  his  son  to  forgive  him  at  all  costs,  the 
Fathers  had  made  no  response  at  all. 

Peter  read  this  epistle  with  a  feeling  bordering  upon 
consternation.  The  prop  upon  which  he  relied  for  support 
had  given  way  beneath  him  like  rotten  timber.  He  had 
obtained  what  he  himself  had  wished  for  ;  he  had  been  only 
too  successful.  The  Church  had  accepted  the  Tsar's 
supremacy  to  such  an  extent  that  she  had  well-nigh  ceased 
to  exist  :  he  himself  embodied  the  Church.  The  Tsarevitch 
said  with  a  bitter  smile,  when  he  heard  this  clerical  pro- 
nouncement : — 

"  These  humble  monks  are  wilier  than  the  devil  himself. 
They  have  got  as  yet  no  ecclesiastical  college,  but  they  have 
already  learnt  spiritual  diplomacy." 

Once  more  he  felt  that  the  Church  was  dead,  and  he 
recalled  the  words  of  the  Lord  to  him  of  whom  it  was  said  : 
"  Thou  art  Peter,  and  on  this  rock  I  will  build  My  church." 

"  When  thou  wast  young,  thou  girdest  thyself,  and 
walkedst  whither  thou  wouldest ;  but  when  thou  shalt  be 
old,  thou  shalt  stretch  forth  thy  hands,  and  another  shall 
gird  thee  and  carry  thee  whither  thou  wouldest  not." 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE  first  Session  of  the  High  Court  was  opened  on 
June  17,  in  the  Audience  Hall  of  the  Senate  House. 
The  judges  consisted  of  ministers,  senators,  generals, 
governors,  captains  of  the  army  and  navy,  majors,  lieuten- 
ants, sub-lieutenants,  ensigns,  war-commissioners,  officials 
of  the  new  government  departments,  and  old  Boyars, 
numbering  in  all,  civilian  and  military,  127  men.  Truly 
a  very  mixed  assemblage  !  as  those  of  the  nobility  who 
were  present  commented  among  themselves,  Some  could 
not  even  write,  and  thus  were  unable  to  sign  the  sentence. 

After  hearing  Mass,  which  was  solemnized  in  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Trinity,  to  invoke  Divine  aid  in  their  difficult 
undertaking,  the  judges  assembled  in  the  Senate  House. 
The  doors  and  windows  of  the  hall  were  open,  not  only  to 
allow  the  entrance  of  fresh  air,  for  it  was  a  hot  and  heavy 
day,  but  also  to  give  to  the  trial  some  semblance  of  publicity. 
The  neighbouring  streets  had,  however,  been  closed  by 
chevaux-de-frise  and  barricades  ;  while  a  whole  battalion 
of  the  guards,  with  guns  shouldered,  was  drawn  up  on  the 
Square  to  keep  the  "  rabble  "  at  a  distance.  The  Tsarevitch 
was  brought  from  the  fortress  under  the  custody  of  four 
officers  with  drawn  swords. 

There  was  a  throne  in  the  Audience  Hall,  the  Tsar, 
however,  did  not  mount  it,  but  seated  himself  in  an  arm- 
chair at  the  end  of  the  hall.  Behind  two  rows  of  tables 
covered  with  red  cloth  were  seated  the  judges.  The 
Tsarevitch  took  up  a  position  in  front  of  his  father,  like  a 
defendant  facing  the  plaintiff. 

When  the  Court  was  declared  open  Peter  rose  and  said  : — 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Senate  and  Judges,  I  pray  you  to 
judge  this  case  in  the  fullest  spirit  of  equity,  as  its  nature 


FATHER  AND  SON  485 

demands,  yielding  no  place  to  flattery  or  sordid  motives. 
If  you  decide  that  a  light  punishment  will  suffice,  but 
hesitate  through  fear  of  my  displeasure  from  passing  such 
a  sentence,  I  give  you  my  word  that  this  will  not  be  incurred. 
I  pray  you  also  not  to  give  any  weight  to  the  consideration 
that  it  is  the  son  of  your  Tsar  whom  you  are  called  upon  to 
judge.  Misled  by  no  mere  appearance,  be  strictly  impartial  ; 
let  the  rights  of  man  and  man  prevail,  and  imperil  in  no- 
wise your  own  souls  and  mine,  for  our  consciences  ought 
to  be  clear  on  the  day  of  the  last  Judgment,  and  our 
country  secure." 

The  Vice-Chancellor  Shafiroff  read  aloud  a  long  list  of  the 
crimes  charged  against  the  Tsarevitch,  some  of  which  he 
had  already  publicly  admitted,  others  being  new,  which  it 
was  alleged  he  had  concealed  at  the  first  Inquiry. 

"  Do  you  plead  '  guilty  '  ?  "  asked  Prince  Menshikoff, 
who  had  been  elected  president  of  the  Court. 

All  expected  that  the  Tsarevitch  would  fall  on  his  knees 
before  his  father,  and  with  tears  would  pray  that  mercy 
might  be  shown  him,  as  he  had  done  at  Moscow  ;  but  when 
they  saw  him  rise  and  look  round  the  assembly  with  a  calm 
gaze  they  knew  that  events  would  take  a  different  course. 

"  Whether  I  be  guilty  or  no  is  not  for  you,  but  for  God 
alone  to  judge,"  he  began,  amid  silence  sudden  and  pro- 
found, and  the  breathless  expectation  of  all.  "  How  is  it 
possible  for  you  to  pass  righteous  judgment  without 
freedom  of  speech  ?  Where  is  your  freedom  ?  You  are 
the  slaves  of  the  Tsar  ;  whatever  he  bids  you  say,  you  do 
say.  This  is  called  a  trial,  but  it  is  only  an  exhibition  of 
injustice  and  tyranny.  You  know  the  fable  of  the  wolf  who 
went  to  law  with  the  lamb.  Your  tribunal  is  a  tribunal 
of  wolves.  Were  I  innocent  a  hundred  times  over,  you 
would  condemm  me  all  the  same.  If  instead  of  you  it  was 
the  whole  Russian  people  who  were  proceeding  to  judge 
between  me  and  my  father — that  would  be  a  very  different 
matter.  I  love  the  people.  Peter  is  great,  very  great ;  but 
at  the  same  time  his  rule  is  stern  and  heavy  and  it  is  hard 
to  breathe  under  it.  What  lives  have  been  lost,  how  much 
blood  has  been  shed  !  The  earth  herself  is  groaning  beneath 
it.  Do  you  hear  nothing,  do  you  see  nothing  ?  But  what 
is  the  use  of  speaking  ?     You  are  not  a  Senate  at  all,  you 


486  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

are  lackeys  of  the  Tsar,  his  lackeys  all  of  you,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest !  " 

A  murmur  of  disapproval  drowned  the  last  words,  yet 
nobody  dared  stop  him,  All  looked  towards  the  Tsar, 
waiting  for  him  to  speak.  But  the  Tsar  remained  silent, 
not  a  muscle  of  the  stony,  rigid  face  quivered  ;  only  the 
large  flashing  eyes  encountered  the  fixed  gaze  of  his  son. 

"  Why  are  you  silent.  Father  ?  "  said  the  Tsarevitch 
suddenly  with  a  mocking  smile  to  the  Tsar.  "  Has  it 
startled  you  to  hear  the  truth  ?  Had  you  merely  ordered 
my  head  to  be  cut  off,  I  would  not  have  said  a  word  ;  but 
since  you  have  instituted  this  mock  tribunal,  whether  it  be 
agreeable  to  you  or  not  you  will  have  to  hear  me.  When 
you  lured  me  back  to  Petersburg  from  under  the  Emperor's 
protection  did  you  not  swear  by  God  and  His  judgment  to 
pardon  me  everything  ?  What  account  do  you  give  of 
that  promise  ?  You  are  dishonoured  in  the  sight  of  all 
Europe  !  The  Autocrat  of  Russia,  a  perjurer  and  a  liar " 

"  Such  language  cannot  be  tolerated —  It  is  lese- 
Majeste.  He  has  gone  out  of  his  mind —  Away,  away 
with  him  !  "  rose  from  a  number  of  voices. 

Prince  Menshikoff  came  to  the  Tsar  and  whispered 
something  to  him.  But  the  Tsar  continued  silent,  as  though 
unable  to  see  or  hear  anything  ;  his  face  was  as  expression- 
less as  that  of  one  dead. 

"  You  shall  be  the  first  to  stain  the  block  with  the  blood 
of  a  son,  the  blood  of  Russia's  Tsars,"  Alexis  rejoined,  and 
his  words  rang  with  a  prophetic  accent.  "This  blood 
shall  descend  upon  successive  generations  of  our  lineage 
unto  the  last  Tsar  of  our  race — all  shall  perish  in  blood. 
God  will  visit  your  sin  upon  Russia !  " 

Peter  stirred  heavily,  with  indescribable  effort,  as  if  he 
were  striving  to  rise  from  under  some  terrible  burden. 
At  last  he  stood  up  ;  his  face  became  convulsed  and  dis- 
torted, the  stone  mask  seemed  to  become  reanimated,  his  lips 
parted  and  a  hoarse  sound  escaped  from  his  throat. 

"  Silence  !  silence  !     I  will  curse  you  !  " 

"  You  will  curse  me}  "  exclaimed  the  Tsarevitch  beside 
himself.     He  rushed  upon  the  Tsar  and  raised  his  fists. 

All  were  terror  stricken  :  it  seemed  as  though  the  next 
moment  he  would  strike  his  father  or  spit  in  his  face. 


FATHER  AND  SON  487 

"  You  will  curse  me !  I  myself  will  curse  you — Villain — 
Murderer,  Beast — Antichrist  ! — Be  accursed,  accursed, 
accursed  !  " 

Peter  fell  back  into  his  chair  and  held  his  hands  out  as  in 
self  defence. 

All  started  up.  A  pause  ensued,  as  at  a  cry  of  lire  or 
murder.  Some  closed  the  window  and  doors,  while  others 
sought  safety  in  flight ;  some  again  surrounded  Alexis  and 
tried  to  drag  him  away  from  his  father,  and  others  rushed 
to  succour  the  Tsar.  He  had  fainted,  he  had  had  another 
fit  like  that  of  a  month  ago  at  Peterhof.  The  session 
was  closed. 

That  same  night  the  High  Court  assembled  once  more 
and  sentenced  the  Tsarevitch  to  be  examined  under  torture. 


CHAPTER    V 

THE     ORDER    OF    PROCEDURE    AT    THE    TORTURE    OF   THOSE 
UNDER   ACCUSATION 

"  ^  I  ""HE  examination  under  torture  of  those  accused  of 
1  crime  shall  take  place  in  a  specially  reserved  spot 
termed  Sastenok,  surrounded  by  fences  and  covered  with 
a  roof.  The  judges  shall  be  present  at  the  proceedings 
with  a  secretary,  and  a  clerk  shall  register  the  words  of  him 
undergoing  torture. 

"  In  this  place  a  strappado  shall  be  erected  ;  which 
shall  consist  of  three  beams,  two  driven  into  the  ground 
the  third  connecting  them  transversely  at  the  top.  At  the 
appointed  hour  the  administrator  of  the  torture  is  to  come  in 
with  his  instruments — a  wooden  collar  to  which  is  attached 
a  rope,  a  knout,  and  some  strips  of  leather. 

"  On  the  arrival  of  the  judges  the  torturer  shall  throw 
one  end  of  the  long  rope  across  the  transverse  bar,  and 
taking  the  accused  shall  draw  his  arms  behind  him  and 
confine  them  in  the  collar  ;  he  and  his  assistants  appointed 
for  the  task  shall  then  throw  their  weight  upon  the  rope  in 
such  a  fashion  that  the  victim  cannot  touch  the  ground, 
but  shall  remain  suspended  by  his  arms  which  are  twisted 
behind  him.  Then  his  feet  shall  be  strapped  together,  and 
fastened  to  a  beam  erected  for  the  purpose  in  front  of  the 
strappado.  The  prisoner  being  thus  pinioned  and  fully 
outstretched,  the  flogging  shall  commence  and  at  the  same 
time  the  interrogation  of  the  accused,  and  the  official 
registration   of  every  word  extracted  shall   take   place." 

When  on  the  morning  of  June  19  the  Tsarevitch  was 
brought  into  the  torture  chamber  he  was  still  ignorant 
of  the  sentence  of  the  court. 

488 


FATHER  AND  SON  489 

The  headsman  Kondrashka  Tioutioune  came  up  to  him 
and  said  : 

"  Undress." 

The  Tsarevitch  still  did  not  understand. 

Kondrashka  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  Alexis 
looked  at  him  and  understood,  but  no  fear  took  possession 
of  him.  His  soul  was  devoid  of  all  feeling.  He  felt  as 
if  he  were  asleep  and  in  his  ears  rang  the  song  of  an  old 
foreboding  drem  : — 

Fierce  fires  are  burning. 
Cauldrons  are  steaming, 
Blades  of  knives  sharpened 
All  to  butcher  thee  I 

"  Raise  him  I  "  said  Peter  to  the  headsman. 

The  Tsarevitch  was  suspended  on  the  strappado.  He 
received  twenty-five  blows  with  the  knout. 

Three  days  later  Peter  sent  Tolstoi  to  his  son. 

"  Go  to-day  after  mass  to  the  lod.ging  of  the  T5are\'itch, 
question  him  on  the  following  points  and  note  do%\"n  his 
replies  : — 

'"  (i)  For  what  reason  has  he  refused  to  act  according 
to  the  least  of  my  wishes  ?  He  knew  such  conduct  was 
wholly  indefensible  ;  why  then  has  he  felt  neither  shame  nor 
remorse  ? 

"  (2)  Why  was  he  then  so  boldly  defiant  of  all  the 
punishment  which  he  knew  would  ensue  ? 

"  (3)  Why  has  he  sought  to  win  his  paternal  inheritance 
by  other  means  than  obedience  ?  " 

When  Tolstoi  entered  the  dungeon  of  the  Trubetzkoi 
bastion  where  the  Tsarevitch  was  incarcerated,  the  latter 
was  lying  on  his  couch.  Blumentrost  was  preparing  a 
medical  dressing  ;  he  was  examining  the  scars  on  the 
back,  exchanging  old  bandages  for  new  ones  soaked  with 
some  cooling  fomentation.  The  court  physician  had  been 
ordered  to  cure  the  Tsarevitch  as  quickly  as  possible  so 
cLS  to  fit  him  for  the  next  torture. 

Alexis  lay  in  a  fever  and  was  delirious  : — 

"  Fedor  Franzovitch  !  send  her  away  for  God's  sake, 
send  her  away.  Dont  you  see  her  there,  mewing  like  a 
cat  ?     the  cursed  thing,  who  caresses  I     Suddenly  she  will 


490  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

fly  at  my  throat  and  tear  my  heart  out  with  her  claws " 

All  at  once  he  recovered  consciousness  and  recognised 
Tolstoi. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 

"  Your  father  sent  me " 

"  Again  to  torture  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Tsarevitch  !  Fear  nothing  !  It's  not  for 
examination,  only  for  information.  .  .  ." 

"  I  know  nothing  more,  nothing  more,"  groaned  the 
Tsarevitch  tossing  on  his  couch.  "  Leave  me  alone  !  Kill 
me,  only  don't  torture  me  again  !  If  you  are  afraid  to 
kill  me,  give  me  poison  or  a  razor,  I  will  do  it  myself. — 
Only  be  quick,  be  quick  !  " 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Tsarevitch  ?  Come, 
come,  be  quiet  !  "  began  Tolstoi  in  his  gentle  mellow 
voice,  looking  kindly  at  him,  "  If  God  be  willing,  all  will 
come  right.  This  world  is  full  of  strange  events.  Slow 
and  sure.  God  Himself  has  suffered  and  we  too  must 
bear  our  share  of  suffering.  Do  you  think  I  do  not  pity 
you,  my  poor  fellow  ?  " 

He  took  out  the  inevitable  snuffbox  with  the  Arcadian 
shepherd  and  shepherdess,  took  a  pinch  and  wiped  a  tear 
from  his  eye. 

"  Ah,  I  am  sorry  for  you.  I  pity  you  with  all  my  heart. 
I  would  give  my  life  for  you  ! " 

And  leaning  over  him  he  added  in  a  hurried  whisper  : — 

"  Whether  you  believe  me  or  no,  I  have  always  wished 
you  well,  and  to-day  still " 

He  stopped  short,  alarmed  by  the  fixed  gaze  of  the  eyes 
of  the  Tsarevitch  who  was  slowly  endeavouring  to  rise  : — 

"  Judas  the  Traitor  !  This  for  your  good  wishes  !  " 
He  spat  in  his  face,  and  then  with  a  dull  moan  fell  back  up- 
on the  bed. 

Blumentrost  rushed  up  to  him,  crying  to  Tolstoi  : — 

"  Go  away  at  once ;  if  not,  I  cannot  be  responsible  for 
anything." 

The  Tsarevitch  had  again  fallen  into  delirium. 

"  There  see  how  she  lies  in  wait  for  me Her  eyes 

are  just  like  two  blazing  coals,  her  whiskers  bristle  like 

those  of  my  father  !     Get  away  ! Fedor  Franzovitch, 

for  heaven's  sake  drive  her  away  I  implore  you  !  " 


FATHER  AND  SON  491 

Blumentrost  gave  him  some  spirit  to  smell  and  laid  some 
ice  on  his  head. 

At  last  he  recovered  consciousness  and  glanced  at  Tolstoi 
without  the  least  anger,  evidently  oblivious  of  what  had 
just  happened. 

"  Peter  Andreitch,  I  know  you  have  a  kind  heart.  Oblige 
me  by  an  act  of  friendship.  Heaven  will  recompense  you. 
Beg  my  father  to  grant  me  permission  to  see  Afrossinia " 

Tolstoi  gently  kissed  the  bandaged  hand  and  said  in  a 
voice  tremulous  with  sincere  tears.  : 

"  I  will  obtain  this  permission  !  I  will  do  all  that  is 
possible  for  you.  Only  we  must  first  answer  some  little 
questions.     There  are  but  three." 

He  read  aloud  the  list  of  questions  which  the  Tsar  had 
drawn  up. 

The  Tsarevitch  closed  his  eyes  in  exhaustion. 

"  What  further  answer  can  I  make  ?  God  is  my  witness 
I  have  already  said  all  I  had  to  say  !  I  have  neither  words 
nor  thoughts  left.     I  have  become  quite  idiotic." 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,  Tsarevitch,"  rejoined  Tolstoi 
hastily.  He  drew  up  a  table  and  brought  out  paper,  pen 
and  ink. 

"  I  will  dictate,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  write " 

"  Will  he  be  able  to  write  ?  "  Tolstoi  suddenly  inquired 
of  the  physician  with  a  look  in  which  the  latter  thought  he 
saw  the  inexorable  eyes  of  the  Tsar. 

Blumentrost  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  murmuring 
to  himself  "  Barbarians  !  "  he  took  the  bandage  off  the 
patient's  right  hand. 

Tolstoi  began  to  dictate.  The  Tsarevitch  wrote  with 
difficulty  in  trembling  characters  ;  several  times  he  was 
obliged  to  stop  ;  he  almost  fainted  with  weakness  and  the 
pen  often  slipped  from  his  fingers.  Blumentrost  was 
obliged  to  give  him  some  medicine  to  revive  him.  But 
Tolstoi's  words  acted  as  an  even  greater  stimulant  : 

"  You  shall  see  Afrossinia.  Perhaps  you  will  be  par- 
doned, and  even  be  allowed  to  marry  her.  Only  write, 
write  !  " 

And  the  Tsarevitch  set  himself  again  to  the  task. 

"  On  June  22,  1718,  I  replied  in  the  following  terms 
to  the  questions  which  were  laid  before  me  by  M.  Tolstoi  : — 


492  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  (i)  My  insubordination  towards  my  father  is  ex- 
plained by  the  fact  that  I  have  been  brought  up  by  ignorant 
women  who  sought  only  to  amuse  me  :  they  made  a 
fanatic  of  me,  a  state  of  mind  towards  which  I  was  by 
temperament  already  disposed.  My  father,  anxious  for 
me  to  receive  instruction  worthy  of  a  prince,  desired  me  to 
apply  myself  to  the  study  of  German  and  the  sciences,  but 
such  study  was  hateful  to  me.  I  worked  most  lazily, 
simply  to  while  away  the  time.  Since  my  father  was 
often  absent  on  campaigns  of  prolonged  periods  the  people 
around  me,  observing  that  I  took  pleasure  in  talking  to 
priests  and  monks  and  also  that  I  had  an  inclination  for 
wasting  time  in  drinking,  far  from  keeping  me  back,  them- 
selves encouraged  me  and  took  part  in  these  visits  and 
drinking  bouts.  Thus  they  estranged  me  more  and  more 
from  my  father,  and,  by  degrees,  not  only  his  military  and 
other  exploits,  but  his  very  presence  became  utterly  re- 
pugnant to  me. 

"  (2)  My  reckless  defiance  of  and  contempt  for  all 
punishment  are  the  outcome  of  my  naturally  bad  dis- 
position ;  of  this  I  am  fully  aware.  Though  I  feared  my 
father,  my  fear  was  not  of  the  kind  which  should  be  present 
in  the  relation  of  a  son  to  a  father. 

"  (3)  I  can  easily  explain  why  I  sought  to  obtain  power 
otherwise  than  by  submission  to  my  father.  Since  I  had 
abandoned  the  right  path  and  would  not  imitate  my  father 
in  anything,  I  was  compelled,  in  order  to  obtain  power,  to 
have  recourse  to  foreign  aid.  And  if  events  had  brought 
it  to  pass  that  the  Emperor  had  given  me,  in  fulfilment  of 
his  promise,  the  support  of  his  army  to  enable  me  to  gain 
the  Russian  crown  by  conquest,  then  I,  indifferent  to  every- 
thing else,  would  have  acted  as  follows.  Should  the  Emperor 
have  asked  of  me  in  return  Russian  troops  to  help  him 
against  his  own  foes,  or  even  a  large  sum  of  money,  I  should 
have  done  as  he  wished,  as  well  as  liberally  rewarded  his 
ministers  and  generals.  And  I  would  have  taken  upon 
myself  to  provide  for  his  troops  which  he  would  have 
supplied  me  for  the  purpose  of  winning  the  Russian  crown  ; 
in  short  I  would  have  spared  nothing  to  gain  my  end. 

"Alexis." 


FATHER  AND  SON  493 

Only  when  he  had  signed  the  statement  did  he  suddenly 
recover  as  if  from  a  trance  and  realise  what  he  had  done. 
He  would  have  cried  out  that  it  was  all  false  and  have 
snatched  the  paper  away  and  destroyed  it ;  but  tongue  and 
limbs  refused  to  act,  he  was  like  those  who  have  been 
buried  alive  and  who  hear  and  feel  everything,  yet  cannot 
move  in  the  lethargy  of  their  death-like  sleep.  Speechless 
and  motionless  he  watched  Tolstoi  fold  the  paper  and  put 
it  in  his  pocket. 

On  the  ground  of  this  last  confession,  which  was  read  in 
the  Senate  on  June  24,  the  High  Court  made  the  following 
decree  : — 

"  We  the  undersigned  ministers,  senators,  officers  of  the 
crown,  military  and  civil,  after  mature  deliberation  follow- 
ing the  dictates  of  conscience  and  taking  our  stand  upon 
the  divine  commandment  embodied  in  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments,  in  the  Holy  Gospels,  in  the  Acts,  canons  and 
rules  of  assemblies  of  the  Holy  Fathers  and  Teachers  of  the 
Church,  and  in  like  manner  also  upon  the  statutes  of  the 
Roman,  Greek  and  other  Christian  emperors,  as  well  as 
upon  the  law  of  Russia,  have  unanimously  and  without 
contradiction  agreed  and  passed  sentence  that  theTsarevitch 
Alexis,  culpable  of  revolt  against  his  father,  the  Tsar, whose 
Empire  he  coveted  ever  since  his  childhood  and  desired  to 
grasp  it  with  the  help  of  rebels  and  foreign  sovereigns 
and  troops,  which  would  have  brought  complete  ruin  upon 
the  country, — is  worthy  of  death." 


CHAPTER    VI 

THAT  very  day  the  Tsarevitch  was  again  led  to  the 
torture.  After  he  had  received  fifteen  blows  with 
the  knout  he  was  taken  down  from  the  strappado,  as 
Blumentrost  declared  that  the  Tsarevitch  was  in  a  fainting 
condition  and  would  die  under  any  further  infliction  of 
the  knout. 

In  the  night  his  condition  became  so  much  worse  that 
the  officer  on  guard  in  alarm  ran  to  inform  the  commandant 
of  the  fortress  that  the  Tsarevitch  was  dying,  and  that  a 
priest  ought  to  be  summoned  lest  he  should  pass  away 
without  the  last  rites  of  the  Church.  The  commandant 
at  once  despatched  the  priest  of  the  garrison,  Father 
Matthew.  The  latter  at  first  resisted  and  entreated  the 
commandant  : — 

"  Excuse  me  this  office,  your  Honour  !  I  am  but  a  novice 
in  such  matters  as  these.  It  is  dreadful  to  touch  anything 
wherein  the  Tsar  is  concerned.  Once  in  the  trap  there  will 
be  no  means  of  getting  out  of  it  again.  I  have  a  wife  and 
children.     Have  mercy  on  me  !  " 

The  commandant  promised  to  take  all  the  responsibility 
upon  himself,  and  Father  Matthew  went  with  a  heavy 
heart,  sorely  against  his  own  inclination. 

The  Tsarevitch  lay  unconscious  ;  his  mind  was  wandering, 
he  did  not  recoginze  anybody. 

Suddenly  he  opened  his  eyes  and  stared  at  Father 
Matthew. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  The  priest  of  the  garrison.  Father  Matthew.  I  have 
been  sent  to  receive  your  confession." 

"  To  receive  my  confession  ?     Why  do  you  bear  a  calf's 


FATHER  AND  SON  495 

head  on  your  shoulder  ? and  shaggy  hair  upon  that 

moon  face  of  yours,  and  horns  upon  your  forehead  ?  " 

Father  Matthew  remained  silent,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground. 

"  Do  you  desire  to  confess,  my  lord  Tsarevitch,"  he 
asked  at  last  with  a  timid  hope  that  the  Tsarevitch  would 
refuse. 

"  Are  you  acquainted.  Father,  with  the  Tsar's  ukase,  by 
which  all  treason  or  seditious  plot,  of  which  confession  has 
been  made  to  a  priest,  has  to  be  revealed  to  the  secret 
chancery  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,  your  Highness." 

"  And  should  I  reveal  to  you  something  of  this  kind  in 
my  confession  would  you  betray  me  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  help  it  ?  we  are  no  longer  masters  of  our 
actions.  I  have  a  wife  and  children."  murmured  Father 
Matthew,  with  the  despairing  thought,  "  this  is  a  good 
beginning  !  " 

"  Away,  get  away  from  me,  blockhead  !  "  exclaimed  the 
Tsarevitch  in  a  fury.  "  You  slave  of  the  Russian  Tsar  ! 
Sold,  sold,  all  of  you,  down  to  the  last  man  !  You  were 
once  eagles,  you  have  become  as  oxen  bowed  under  the 
yoke  !  You  have  delivered  the  Church  over  to  Antichrist  ! 
J.  will  die  unconfessed,  and  I  will  receiv^e  no  sacrament  from 
your  hands.  You  viper's  brood!  You  incarnations  of 
Satan  !  " 

Father  Matthew  recoiled  in  horror.  His  hands  trembled 
so  violently  that  he  almost  dropped  the  vessel  which 
contained  the  Host. 

The  Tsarevitch  glanced  at  it  and  repeated  the  words 
of  the  Raskolnik  monk  : — 

"  Do  you  know  what  your  Lamb  can  be  likened  unto  ? 
It  can  be  likened  unto  a  dead  dog  which  has  been  cast  into 
the  streets  of  the  city.  If  you  receive  the  Host  you  will 
die.  Your  Eucharist  has  the  same  effect  as  arsenic  or 
sublimate  :  it  permeates  bone  and  marrow,  the  very 
soul  itself !  Afterwards  you  will  lie  and  groan  in  the 
Gehenna  of  fire,  like  Cain  the  fratricide,   the  hardened 

sinner You  would  like  to  poison  me,  but  I  will  not 

give  you  the  chance  !  " 

Father  Matthew  fled  from  the  room. 


496  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  black  were-wolf  leapt  upon  the  neck  of  Alexis,  and 
began  to  strangle  him,  and  to  pluck  at  his  heart  with  its 
claws. 

"  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  Thou  forsaken  me  ?  "  he 
moaned  in  mortal  anguish. 

All  at  once  he  felt  that  near  his  bed,  on  the  spot  occupied 
a  moment  ago  by  Father  Matthew,  another  person  was 
now  seated.     He  opened  his  eyes  to  see. 

He  beheld  a  small  white-haired  old  man,  whose  head 
was  inclined  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  impossible  for 
Alexis  to  discern  his  features.  The  old  man  partly  re- 
sembled Father  John,  the  Sacristan  of  the  Church  of  the 
Annunciation  at  Moscow,  and  in  some  way  also  the  cen- 
tenarian beekeeper,  whom  Alexis  had  once  met  in  the  depth 
of  the  Novgorod  woods,  who  used  to  spend  his  days 
among  the  hives,  basking  in  the  sun,  his  hair  white  as  snow, 
and  bearing  ever  about  himself  the  scent  of  honey  and 
wax.     His  name,   too,   was  John. 

"  Are  you  Father  John,  or  the  old  greybeard  ?  "  asked 
the  Tsarevitch. 

"  I  am  John,  yes  John,"  said  the  old  man  kindly  with  a 
gentle  smile,  and  his  voice  was  low  and  murmuring  like 
the  humming  of  bees  or  the  sound  of  distant  chimes.  The 
Tsarevitch  felt  awed  and  yet  soothed  by  this  voice.  He 
tried  to  see  the  old  man's  face  but  could  not. 

"  Fear  not,  fear  not,  my  child  !  "  continued  the  voice  in 
yet  sweeter  and  lower  tones.  "  The  Lord  hath  sent  me  to 
you  !     He  will  Himself  soon  be  here  !  " 

The  old  man  raised  his  head  and  thereupon  the  Tsare- 
vitch saw  a  face  full  of  the  grace  of  celestial  youth,  and 
recognised  John,  the  Son  of  Thunder. 

"  Christ  is  risen,  Aliosha  !  " 

"  Truly,  he  is  risen  !  "  answered  the  Tsarevitch,  and  a 
great  and  strange  radiance  of  joy  filled  his  soul  as  on  that 
night  in  Trinity  church  during  the  celebration  of  the 
Easter  Matins. 

John  seemed  to  hold  the  sun  in  his  hands  :  it  was  the 
chalice  containing  the  Body  and  Blood  of  Christ. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father  and  the  Son  and  the  Holy 
Spirit  !  " 

He  it  was  who  administered   the  communion  to  the 


FATHER  AND  SON  497 

Tsarevitch.  The  sun  became  light  within  him,  and  he 
felt  there  was  neither  grief  nor  fear,  neither  pain  nor  death, 
but  only  eternal  life,  eternal  Light — the  Christ. 

Who  was  that  healing  miiiistrant,  that  John,  the  Son  of 
Thunder,  that  little  white  -  haired  old  man,  of  a  countenance 
so  full  of  peace  ? 

He  will  appear  again  in  this  book,  He  will  appear  to 
another  sufferer,  who  amongst  the  poor  folk  of  this  great 
Russian  people,  was  seeking  in  lowly  life,  what  Alexis 
the  Tsarevitch  was  seeking  near  the  throne. 


II 


CHAPTER   VII 

BLUMENTROST  was  amazed  when  he  examined  the 
patient  in  the  morning  ;  the  fever  had  gone  down, 
and  the  wounds  were  healing  up.  The  change  for  the 
better  was  so  sudden  that  it  almost  seemed  miraculous. 

"  Thank  the  Lord,  thank  the  Lord  !  "  rejoiced  the  Ger- 
man, "  there  is  hope  for  a  recovery  now  !  " 

All  through  the  day  the  Tsarevitch  felt  well ;  an  ex- 
pression of  serene  joy  did  not  leave  his  face. 

At  noon  his  death  sentence  was  read  to  him. 

He  remained  calm  during  the  reading,  blessed  himself 
with  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  asked  when  it  would  be  put 
into  execution.  He  was  told  that  the  day  had  not  yet  been 
fixed.  His  dinner  was  brought  in.  He  ate  with  a  good 
appetite  ;   then  asked  for  the  window  to  be  opened. 

The  day  was  fresh  and  sunny  as  in  spring.  The  wind 
carried  a  scent  of  water  and  grass.  Under  the  window, 
among  the  cracks  of  the  prison  wall,  dandelions  were 
flowering. 

Alexis  looked  for  a  long  while  out  of  the  window.  Swallows 
darted  past  it  with  joyous  twitter.  The  sky  had  never 
appeared  to  him  so  blue  and  deep  as  now,  when  viewed 
through  the  iron  bars  of  the  prison  window. 

To.vards  evening  the  sun  caught  the  white  wall  at  the 
head  of  the  couch.  Alexis  imagined  he  saw  the  white- 
haire  1  old  man  with  the  young  face,  the  gentle  smile,  holding 
a  chalice  radiant  as  the  sun. 

He  fell  asleep  with  this  vision ;  it  was  a  long  time  since 
he  had  slept  so  peacefully. 

On  the  morrow,  Thursday,  June  26,  at  eight  in  the 
morning,  Menskihoff,  Tolstoi,  Dolgorouki,  Shafiroff, 
Apraksin  and  other  ministers  assembled  in  the  torture 


FATHER  AND  SON  499 

chamber.  The  Tsarevitch  was  so  weak,  that  he  had  to  be 
carried  from  his  cell. 

Again  he  was  questioned  :  "  What  more  have  you  to 
say  ?  Have  you  concealed  anything,  or  kept  any  names 
back  ?  "     He   did   not   reply. 

He  was  raised  upon  the  strappado.  Nobody  knew  how 
many  blows  he  received,  nobody  counted  them. 

After  the  first  blows  he  suddenly  grew  quiet,  neither 
groaned  nor  moaned  ;  his  body  became  rigid.  He  did  not 
lose  consciousness  ;  his  gaze  remained  bright,  his  face 
calm  ;  yet  there  was  something  about  him  which  terrified 
even  those  men  so  used  to  the  sight  of  suffering. 

"  He  must  not  be  beaten  any  more,  your  Majesty," 
whispered  Blumentrost  to  the  Tsar.  "  He  may  die  of  it. 
Besides,  it  is  quite  useless  ;  he  can  feel  nothing,  he  is  in 
a  state  of  catalepsy " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  the  Tsar  in  astonishment. 

"  Catalepsy  is  a  state "  Blumenbrost  began  to  ex- 
plain. 

"  You  are  in  a  catalepsy  yourself,  you  fool !  "  cried  Peter 
and  turned  away. 

The  executioner  had  stopped  for  a  moment  to  take 
breath. 

"Don't  dawdle!  flog!"  ordered  the  Tsar.  The  man 
resumed  his  work.  Yet  to  the  Tsar  it  seemed  his  blows 
were  less  hard,  out  of  pity  for  the  Tsarevitch.  Peter 
thought  he  saw  pity  and  indignation  on  all  faces. 

"  Flog,  flog  !  "  Peter  started  up  and  stamped  with  his 
foot.  All  looked  at  him  with  terror  :  he  seemed  to  have 
gone  out  of  his  mind. 

"  Strike  as  hard  as  you  can  !  or  have  you  forgotten  how 
flogging  is  done  ?  " 

"  I  strike  ;  how  else  should  I  strike  ?  "  Kondrashka 
grumbled  in  an  undertone,  and  again  he  stopped.  "  I  do 
my  work  in  the  Russian  way  ;  I  have  not  learnt  it  from 
the  foreigners.  I  am  an  Orthodox,  It  is  so  easy  to  commit 
a  crime.  So  easy  to  kill.  See  he  scarcely  breathes,  poor 
fellow  !     He  is  not  a  beast  after  all,  but  a  Christian  !  " 

The  Tsar  rushed  towards  the  man. 

"You  just  wait,  you  devil's  son  ;  I  will  teach  you  how 
to  strike!" 


500  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  Do  what  pleases  you,  your  Majesty."  He  looked 
askance  at  the  Tsar. 

Peter  snatched  the  knout  from  his  hands.  All  hurried 
up  towards  the  Tsar  to  stop  him,  but  too  late.  He  had 
already  raised  the  knout  and  struck  his  son  with  all  his 
might.  The  blows,  though  from  an  unskilled  hand,  were  yet 
so  terrific,  that  it  seemed  they  would  break  the  very  bones. 

The  Tsarevitch  turned  round  and  looked  at  his  father, 
as  though  wanting  to  say  something.  Peter  remembered 
the  gaze  of  the  Saviour's  face,  surrounded  by  a  crown  of 
thorns,  as  portrayed  on  the  ancient  icon,  before  which 
he,  Peter,  had  once  prayed,  oblivious  of  the  Son,  direct  to 
the  Father,  and  asked  with  dread  :  "  What  is  the  meaning 
of  Father  and  Son  ?  "  And  again  a  bottomless  chasm 
yawned  at  his  feet,  so  deep  and  fearful,  that  his  hair  stood 
on  end. 

He  overcame  this  dread,  raised  heavily  the  knout  once 
more  ;  but  he  felt  it  stick  to  his  fingers  ;  it  was  slippery 
with  blood  ;   he  threw  it  away  in  disgust. 

All  surrounded  the  Tsarevitch  ;  he  was  taken  off  the 
strappado  and  laid  on  the  ground. 

Peter  approached  his  son. 

The  Tsarevitch  lay  with  his  head  thrown  back  ;  his  lips 
were  parted  as  with  a  smile  ;  his  face  was  bright,  pure  and 
young  like  that  of  a  boy  of  fifteen.  He  continued  to  gaze 
at  his  father,  with  a  look  which  indicated  he  wanted  to  say 
something  to  him. 

Peter  knelt,  bent  over  his  son  and  embraced  his  head. 

"  It  is  nothing,  nothing,  dearest,"  murmured  Alexis,"  I 
am  all  right.     All  is  well.     God's  will  be  done  !  " 

The  father  kissed  him  on  the  lips  ;  but  Alexis  had 
already  grown  weak  and  lay  heavy  in  Peter's  arms  ;  his 
eyes  had  become  dim,  his  gaze  lost  its  clearness. 

Peter  rose.     His  feet  trembled. 

"  Will  he  die  ?  "  he  asked  Blumentrost. 

"  He  may  live  till  the  evening,"  the  doctor  replied. 

The  Tsar  was  surrounded  by  dignitaries  and  led  out  of 
the  chamber. 

Peter  had  suddenly  broken  down,  he  was  quiet  and 
obedient  as  a  child  ;  he  went  wherever  he  was  led,  and  did 
as  he  was  bidden. 


FATHER  AND  SON  501 

Tolstoi,  noticing  the  Tsar's  hands  were  bloody,  ordered 
a  hand  bowl  to  be  brought.  Peter  submisively  washed  his 
hands.     The  water  became  ruddy. 

He  was  taken  outside  the  fortress,  and  rowed  in  a  small 
boat  to  the  palace. 

Tolstoi  and  Menshikoff  were  careful  not  to  leave  the 
Tsar.  To  distract  and  occupy  him.  they  discussed  various 
indifferent  affairs.  He  listened  calmly  and  replied  reason- 
ably. He  issued  decrees,  and  signed  papers.  Afterwards 
he  never  could  remeniber  what  he  had  done  that  day.  It 
was  as  though  he  had  spent  it  in  a  trance  or  a  swoon.  He 
did  not  talk  about  his  son  ;  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
him. 

At  last  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  when  Tolstoi 
and  Menshikoff  were  informed  that  the  Tsarevitch  was 
dying,  they  were  obliged  to  remind  the  Tsar  of  him.  He 
listened  to  them  with  an  absent  air,  as  though  not  realizing 
what  they  were  talking  about.  Nevertheless  he  went  in 
a  boat  to  the  fortress. 

The  Tsarevitch  had  been  removed  from  the  torture 
chamber  to  his  cell.     He  did  not  regain  consciousness. 

The  Tsar,  accompanied  by  his  ministers,  entered  the 
room  of  the  dying  man.  When  it  was  known  that  Alexis 
had  not  yet  had  the  last  rites  of  the  Church  administered 
to  him,  all  became  agitated  and  flurried.  The  priest  of 
the  Cathedral,  Father  George,  was  sent  for.  He  came 
running  along  with  the  same  frightened  expression  as  the 
rest.  He  prepared  for  the  sacrament,  went  through  a 
dumb  confession,  mumbled  the  absolution,  ordered  the 
head  of  the  dying  man  to  be  raised,  and  brought  to  his  lips 
the  spoon  with  the  Host.  But  the  lips  remained  closed, 
the  teeth  fast  set ;  the  golden  spoon  knocked  against  them, 
for  the  hand  of  Father  George  was  trembling.  Drops  of 
the  sacred  wine  fell  on  the  cloth.  Consternation  was  on 
the  face  of  every  one. 

Suddenly  Peter's  immovable  face  flushed  with  anger. 
He  went  up  to  the  priest  and  said  : — 

"  Leave  it  alone.     It  is  unnecessary." 

And  it  seemed  to  him  (or  was  it  our  fancy  ?)  that  his  son 
smiled  to  him  his  last  smile. 

At  the  same  hour  as  on  the  eve,  on  the  same  spot,  at  the 


502  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

head  of  the  bed,  the  sun  caught  the  white  prison  wall : 
A  white  old  man  was  holding  a  chalice  radiant  as  the  sun. 

The  sunlight  faded.  The  Tsarevitch  sighed  like  a  child 
who  's  falling  alseep. 

Blumentrost  felt  his  pulse,  then  whispered  something 
to  Menshikoff.  The  latter  blessed  himself  with  the  sign 
of  the  cross  and  pronounced  in  a  solemn  voice  : — 

"  His  Highness,  the  Tsarevitch  Alexis  Petrovitch,  has 
passed  away." 

All  knelt  except  the  Tsar.  He  remained  motionless. 
His  face  was  more  white  and  lifeless  than  his  son's  face. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

"     A  LL  things  will  end  one  day  in  Russia  by  some  fearful 

jix.  revolution  ;  the  Autocracy  will  fall,  because 
millions  of  people  cry  out  to  God  against  the  Tsar,"  wrote 
the  Hanoverian  resident,  Weber,  from  Petersburg,  an- 
nouncing the  death  of  the  Tsarevitch. 

"  The  Crown  Prince  died,  not  of  apoplexy,  as  is  officially 
stated,  but  of  a  sword  or  axe,"  wrote  Pleyer  to  his  Emperor. 
"  No  one  was  admitted  to  the  fortress  the  day  of  his  death, 
and  just  before  evening  it  was  locked  up.  A  Dutch 
carpenter,  who  worked  on  the  new  tower  of  the  Cathedral 
and  who  had  remained  there  for  the  night  unnoticed,  saw, 
towards  evening,  strange  men  near  the  torture  chamber ; 
this  workman  told  it  to  his  mother-in-law,  who  is  the 
midwife  at  the  Dutch  resident's.  The  body  of  the  Crown 
Prince  was  laid  in  a  coffin  of  inferior  make  ;  the  head  was 
partly  covered,  while  a  neckerchief  was  wound  round 
the  neck  as  for  shaving." 

The  Dutch  resident,  James  de  Bie,  reported  to  the  States 
General,  that  the  Tsarevitch  had  had  his  veins  opened, 
and  that  a  rebellion  was  expected  in  Petersburg. 

The  Resident's  letters  were  opened  at  the  post  office 
and  presented  to  the  Tsar.  James  de  Bie  was  arrested, 
brought  to  the  ambassador's  chancery  and  questioned. 
The  Dutch  carpenter  and  his  mother-in-law  were  also  taken 
into  custody. 

To  refute  all  rumours,  a  circular  was  drawn  up  by  Tolstoi, 
Shafiroff  and  Menshikoff,  and  was  sent  in  the  Tsar's  name  to 
the  Russian  residents  at  foreign  courts : — 

"  After  the  pronouncement  of  the  verdict  on  our  son, 
we,  his  father,  assailed  by  pity  on  the  one  side,  and  the 
desire  to  assure  our  country's  peace  on  the  other,  could 


504  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

not  come  to  a  decision  all  at  once,  in  this  highly  difficult 
and  important  matter.  Yet  it  pleased  God  Almighty, 
whose  judgments  are  always  just,  to  deliver  the  Sovereign, 
his  house,  and  the  empire  from  all  danger  and  blame  by 
means  of  His  all-divine  goodness.  Yesterday,  on  June 
26,  our  son  Alexis  was  taken  from  this  life  ;  when  the 
verdict  and  the  list  of  crimes  he  had  committed  against 
us  and  the  empire,  were  being  read  to  him,  the  Tsarevitch 
was  seized  with  a  kind  of  apoplexy. 

"  He  recovered  consciousness  and  had,  according  to  Chris- 
tian usage,  the  last  rites  of  the  Church  administered  to 
him  ;  he  also  asked  us  to  come  to  him  ;  and  we,  disregard- 
ing the  trouble  he  had  caused  us,  went  to  him  with  all  our 
ministers  and  senators.  He  confessed  all  his  faults  and 
crimes  against  us,  shedding  abundant  tears  of  repentance, 
and  asked  for  pardon,  which  we,  conscious  of  our  Christian 
and  parental  duty,  readily  granted  him.  Thus,  on  June 
26,  at  6  in  the  evening,  he  died  as  a  Christian." 

On  June  27,  the  day  after  the  death  of  Alexis,  the  ninth 
anniversary  of  Poltava  was  celebrated  in  the  usual  way. 
The  standard,  a  black  eagle  on  a  yellow  field,  was  hoisted 
on  the  fortress  ;  mass  was  said  at  the  cathedral,  cannons 
saluted,  and  a  banquet  was  held  in  the  Post  Office  Court 
in  the  daytime,  while  at  night  the  revels  were  continued 
on  the  gallery  overlooking  the  Neva,  in  the  Summer  Gardens 
at  the  foot  of  Venus. 

It  said  in  the  report  that  the  merry-making  was  great, 
the  music  sweet  as  the  sighings  of  love  in  the  kingdom 
of  Venus. 

'Tis  time  to  cast  thy  bow  away, 
Cupid,  we  all  are  in  thy  sway  ! 

That  same  night  the  body  of  the  Tsarevitch  was  laid 
in  a  coffin  and  removed  from  the  cell  into  a  large  empty 
log-built  hall  in  the  fortress. 

In  the  morning  it  was  carried  into  the  cathedral,  and  per- 
mission was  given  to  the  people,  without  distinction  of 
rank  or  position,  to  come  up  to  the  coffin,  see  the  body,  and 
take  leave  of  the  Tsarevitch. 

Sunday,  June  29,  was  another  holiday — the  Tsar's 
name's  day.     Again    mass  was    said,   cannons    saluted. 


FATHER  AND  SON  505 

church  bells  rang ;  dinner  was  served  in  the  Summer 
Palace  ;  in  the  evening  a  new  frigate,  The  Old  Oak,  was 
launched  from  the  Admiralty  dockyards  ;  an  orgie  took 
place  ;  at  night  fireworks  were  burnt  and  again  there 
was  great  merry-making. 

The  funeral  of  the  Tsarevitch  was  fixed  on  Monday, 
June  30.  The  ceremony  was  very  solemn.  Stephen, 
Metropolitan  of  Riazan  ;  Feofan,  Bishop  of  Pskoff ;  six 
more  bishops,  two  metropolitans  from  Palestine,  archiman- 
drites, priests,  hiero-monks,  archdeacons  and  eighteen 
ordinary  priests  officiated.  The  Tsar,  the  Tsaritsa,  the 
ministers  and  senators,  all  high  officials,  military  and 
civil,  were  present.  Innumerable  crowds  surrounded  the 
church. 

The  coffin,  covered  with  black  velvet,  stood  on  a  high 
catafalque  under  a  canopy  of  golden  brocade.  Four 
officers  of  the  Preobrazhensky  Guards  with  drawn  swords 
formed  a  guard  of  honour. 

Many  of  the  dignitaries  had  headaches  from  last  night's 
drinking  bout ;  the  old  buffoons'  songs  were  still  ringing 
in  their  ears  : — 

My  mother  bare  me  while  she  danced, 

And  christened  me  in  the  Tsar's  tavern 

The  dim  flames  of  candles  and  the  subdued  funeral 
singing  seemed  singularly  sombre  on  this  bright  summer's 
day. 

"  Let  the  soul  of  Thy  servant,  O  Christ,  rest  in  peace 
with  the  saints,  where  there  is  neither  sickness,  nor  sorrow, 
nor  sighings,  but  life  everlasting." 

The  deacon  responded  in  a  monotone  : — 

"  We  pray  for  the  soul  of  the  departed  servant  of  God, 
Alexis.  May  every  transgression,  voluntary  and  involun- 
tary, be  forgiven  him." 

The  choir  chanted  : 

"  The  sobs  of  those  who  bewail  the  dead  are  :  Halle- 
lujah ! " 

In  the  crowd  some  one  burst  into  sobs ;  a  tremor 
passed  through  the  church,  when  the  last  verse  was  sung  : — 

"  You  who  see  me  voiceless  and  lifeless  come  hither. 
You  who  love  me,  give  me  the  last  kiss." 


5o6  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

The  Metropolitan  Stephen  was  the  first  to  approach 
the  coffin.  The  old  man  could  scarcely  walk.  Two 
deacons  supported  him.  He  kissed  the  Tsarevitch  on 
his  head  and  hands,  then  bending  over  the  coffin  he  gazed 
for  a  long  time  at  his  face.  The  Metropolitan  Stephen  was 
burying  with  Alexis  all  he  loved ;  ancient  Muscovy, 
the  Patriarchate,  the  freedom  and  grandeur  of  the  ancient 
church  ;    his  last  hope,  the  hope  of  old  Russia. 

After  the  clergy,  the  Tsar  ascended  the  steps  of  the 
catafalque.  His  face  was  as  white  and  impassive  as  it  had 
been  all  these  latter  days.  He  looked  at  his  son.  The 
countenance  of  the  Tsarevitch  was  bright  and  young.  It 
seemed  to  have  grown  even  brighter  and  younger  since 
his  death  His  smile  was  saying,  "  All  is  well !  God's 
will  be  done  !  " 

Something  twitched  and  trembled  in  Peter's  immovable 
face  ;  something  seemed  to  be  struggling  forth  with  great 
effort.  At  last  it  succeeded.  The  face  became  re-animated, 
radiant,  as  though  illumined  by  the  light  coming  from  the 
dead  man's  countenance. 

Peter  bent  down  to  his  son  and  pressed  his  lips  on  the 
cold  lips.  Then  he  lifted  his  eyes  towards  heaven — all 
saw  he  was  weeping — made  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  said  : — 

"  God's  will  be  done  !  " 

He  knew  now  that  his  son  would  justify  him  before 
God's  throne,  and  would  explain  to  him  there  what  he 
could  not  fathom  here:  the  meaning  of  "Father"  and 
*'Son." 


CHAPTER   IX 

IT  was    announced   to  the  people,  precisely  as   it  had 
been  to  foreign  courts,  that  the  Tsarevitch  had  died 
of  apoplexy. 

But  the  Russian  people  did  not  believe  it.  Some  asserted 
he  had  died  under  his  father's  blows  ;  others  shook  their 
heads  dubiously,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  the  affair  went  off 
too  quickly  to  be  quite  straightforward."  Others  again 
maintained  that  the  Tsarevitch  had  not  died;  ;  that  an 
officer  of  the  Guards  who  resembled  him  had  been  buried 
in  his  stead,  while  he  himself  had  fled  from  his  father, 
away  to  the  monasteries  beyond  the  Volga,  or  else  to  the 
Cossacks  in  the  steppes  beyond  the  "  free  rivers,"  where 
he  was  in  hiding. 

A  few  years  later,  there  appeared,  among  the  Yamen 
Cossacks,  a  certain  Timofee,  the  Worker ;  who  looked 
like  a  mendicant,  and  when  asked  his  name  and  whence 
he  came,  he  would  say  : — 

"  From  the  clouds,  from  the  air.  The  staff  is  my  father  ; 
the  wallet  my  mother.  My  name  is  Worker,  because  I 
am  working  at  a  great  work  of  God's." 

At  times  he  would  secretly  say  about  himself : — 

"  I  am  neither  a  moujik,  nor  a  moujik's  son  ;  I  am  an 
eagle  and  the  son  of  an  eagle  ;  an  eagle  I  shall  be  !  I  am 
the  Tsarevitch,  Alexis  Petrovitch.  I  have  the  mark  of 
a  cross  on  my  back  and  that  of  a  sword  on  my  thigh " 

So  people  said  about  him  : — 

"  He  is  not  an  ordinary  being  ;  he  will  one  day  make  the 
earth  tremble 

In  the  anonymous  letters  he  used  to  distribute  among 
the  Cossacks,  it  was  said  : — 

"  Blessed  be  our  God  !     We,  Alexis  Petrovitch,  are  going 


5o8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

to  reclaim  our  ancestral  rights ;  we  count  upon  you 
Cossacks,  as  on  a  stone  wall,  to  help  us  protect  the  Old 
Faith  and  the  people.  And  you,  bourlaks,  shelterless, 
barefooted  poor  folk,  whenever  you  hear  our  call,  hasten, 
day  and  night,  to  rejoin  us." 

The  "  Worker  "  went  through  the  steppes  collecting  an 
army,  promising  to  discover  a  city  which  held  the  insignia 
of  the  Virgin  Mary,  the  gospel,  the  cross,  and  the  standards 
of  Alexander  of  Macedonia  ;  then  he,  the  Tsarevitch  Alexis 
Petrovitch,  will  reign,  and  when  at  the  end  of  the  world 
Antichrist  appears,  he  will  wage  war  against  him  and  all  his 
armies  of  evil  spirits. 

The  "  Worker  "  was  arrested,  put  to  the  torture  and  had 
his  head  cut  off  as  a  pretender. 

But  the  people  went  on  believing  that  the  Tsarevitch 
Alexis  Petrovitch  would  come  in  his  own  good  time,  that 
he  would  take  his  place  on  the  ancestral  throne,  have  all 
the  boyars  executed  and  be  gracious  unto  the  poor  common 
folk. 

Thus,  even  after  his  death,  Alexis  remained  for  the 
people,  "  Russia's  Hope." 


CHAPTER    X 

AFTER  he  had  brought  to  an  end  the  investigations 
connected  with  his  son's  trial,  Peter  left  Petersburg 
for  Reval  on  August  8,  at  the  head  of  a  fleet,  consisting  of 
twenty- two  men-of-war.  The  Tsar  was  on  board  the 
new  ninety-gun  frigate,  The  Old  Oak,  which  had  only 
quite  recently  been  launched  from  the  Admiralty  dock- 
yard. This  was  the  first  ship  which  had  been  built  accord- 
ing to  the  Tsar's  own  designs,  by  Russian  workmen,  from 
Russian  wood,  without  the  help  of  foreigners. 

One  evening,  as  they  were  passing  out  of  the  Finnish  Gulf 
into  the  Baltic  Sea,  Peter  stood  at  the  helm  and  steered. 

The  weather  was  bad.  Black,  heavy  iron  clouds  massed 
over  the  black,  heavy,  also  as  it  were,  iron  waves.  It  was 
rough.  The  sea  was  fretted  with  hoary  surge,  suggesting 
the  pale  arm  of  menacing  phantoms.  At  times  the  waves 
would  wash  over  the  ship  and  a  shower  of  salt  water  would 
drench  all  those  upon  deck,  the  Tsar-helmsman  most  of  all, 
His  clothes  were  wet  through  ;  the  cold  icy  wind  cut  his 
face.  Yet  nevertheless  he  felt,  as  he  usually  did  when 
on  the  sea,  vigorous,  strong  and  joyous. 

With  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  gloomy  distance  he  piloted 
the  vessel  with  a  firm  hand.  The  huge  body  of  the  frigate 
trembled  under  the  pressure  of  the  waves,  yet  The  Old 
Oak  was  strong  and  obeyed  the  rudder  like  a  good  horse 
obeys  the  bridle  ;  she  was  tossed  from  wave  to  wave  ; 
sometimes  the  colourless  deep  would  all  but  engulf  her, 
it  seemed  well-nigh  impossible  for  her  to  come  up  again  ; 
yet  every  time  she  reappeared — triumphant. 

Peter  was  thinking  about  his  son.  For  the  first  time 
he  thought  about  all  that  had  happened  as  belonging  to 
the  past!  There  was  infinite  sadness  in  his  reflections, 
but  no  dread,  no  anguish,  no  repentance.     He  felt  here, 


510  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

also,  just  as  all  through  his  life,  the  manifestation  of  the 
divine  will. 

He  remembered  his  son's  words  addressed  to  the  Senate  : 
"  Peter  is  great,  very  great,  but  he  is  heavy,  he  crushes. 
The  earth  groans  under  the  burden." 

How  else  could  it  be  ?  thought  Peter.  The  anvil  groans 
under  the  hammer.  He,  the  Tsar,  was  only  the  hammer 
with  which  God  was  forging  Russia.  He  had  roused  her 
with  a  massive  blow;  but  for  him  Russia  would  be  still 
sunken  in  a  deep  sleep. 

And  what  would  have  happened  had  the  Tsarevitch 
remained  alive  ? 

Sooner  or  later  he  would  have  come  to  the  throne,  and 
returned  the  power  to  the  priests,  the  monks,  the  "  long- 
beards,"  and  they  would  have  turned  away  from  Europe 
back  to  Asia,  extinguished  the  light  of  civilization,  and 
Russia  would  have  slowly  crumbled  and  perished. 

Peter  had  founded  the  new  empire  ;  but  he  had  know- 
ingly sealed  that  foundation-stone  in  the  blood  of  Alexis, 
his  son. 

"  There  will  be  a  storm,"  said  the  old  Dutch  captain, 
approaching  the  Tsar. 

Peter  made  no  answer  and  continued  to  gaze  into  the 
distance. 

Darkness  was  swiftly  approaching.  The  black  clouds 
descended  lower  and  lower  towards  the  black  waves. 

Suddenly,  at  the  very  edge  of  the  sky,  ^e  sun  peered 
through  a  narrow  cleft  from  under  the  clouds  ;  it  seemed 
as  if  blood  was  gushing  from  a  wound.  The  iron  clouds  and 
waves  became  flushed  as  with  blood.  Wonderful  and 
terrible  was  the  aspect  of  this  sea  of  blood. 

"  Blood !  Blood  !  "  thought,  Peter,  and  to  his  mind  came 
his  son's  prophecy. 

"  You  are  the  first  to  stain  the  block  with  the  blood  of 
a  son,  the  blood  of  Russia's  Tsars  ;  this  blood  shall  descend 
upon  successive  generations  of  thy  lineage  unto  the  last 
Tsar  ;  all  will  perish  in  blood.  God  will  visit  your  sin 
upon  Russia  !  "j 

"  Not  this,  O  Lord  !  "  again,  as  on  that  night  before 
the  ancient  icon,  portraying  a  dark  face  surrounded  by  a 
crown  of  thorns,  Peter  was  praying  direct  to  the  Father 


FATHER  AND  SON  511 

who  sacrificed  His  Son.  "  Let  it  not  be  so!  Let  his  blood 
come  upon  me,  me  alone  !  Punish  me,  O  God  !  Spare 
Russia  !  " 

"There  will  be  a  storm,"  repeated  the  old  captain; 
thinking  the  Tsar  had  not  heard  him.  "  I  advised  your 
Majesty  to  return " 

"  Never  fear,"  answered  Peter  with  a  smile.  "  Our  new 
ship  is  strong ;  she  will  weather  this  gale.  God  is  with 
us." 

And  with  a  firm  hand  the  helmsman  steered  his  vessel 
across  the  blood-red  waves  towards  the  unknown. 

The  sun  had  set ;  it  grew  dark,  the  storm  began  to  howl. 


Epilogue 

THE  COMING  CHRIST 
CHAPTER    I 

"   /^UR  faith  is  not  the  true  one  ;  it  is  not  worth  perish- 

V>/  ing  for.  Oh  could  I  but  find  the  true  faith,  I 
would  let  my  body  be  cut  to  pieces  for  it  !  " 

Tichon  often  remembered  these  words  while  on  his  long 
wanderings  after  he  had  fled  from  Cornelius  and  the  Red 
Death  :  they  were  the  words  of  a  wanderer,  too  ;  one  who 
had  tried  all  creeds  and  accepted  none. 

Once,  late  in  the  autumn,  after  his  flight  from  the  priests 
of  the  Vetlouga.  Tichon  was  resting  at  the  Pestchersky 
monastery  in  Nishni  Novgorod,  doing  the  duties  of  a 
copyist,  one  of  the  monks,  Father  Nicodemus,  talking 
with  him  about  religion,  said  : — 

"  I  know  what  you  need,  my  son.  Wise  people  are 
living  in  Moscow.  They  possess  the  water  of  life.  Hav- 
ing once  drunk  of  it,  you  will  never  thirst  again.  Go  to 
them.  Should  you  be  found  worthy,  they  will  reveal 
to  you  a  great  mystery." 

"  WTiat  mystery  ?  "  Tichon  asked  eagerly. 

"  Don't  be  so  hasty,  my  son,"  retorted  the  monk  with 
kindly  severity.  "  The  more  haste  the  less  speed.  If  you 
really  desire  to  be  initiated  in  that  mystery,  accept  the 
trial  of  silence.  Whatever  you  hear  or  see,  keep  it  to 
yourself.  You  know  the  prayer  :  '  I  will  not  deliver  your 
secret  to  the  enemy,  I  will  not  give  you  the  kiss  of  Judas.' 
Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  I  understand,  Father  ;    I  will  be  as  silent." 

"  Good,"  continued  Father  Nicodemus.  "  I  will  give 
you  a  letter  to  the  Moscow  flour  merchant,  Saphiannikoff. 
Take  him  my  greetings,  and,  as  a  humble  gift  from  me, 
a   small    barrel    of   smoked    cloud-berries.     We    are    old 


513 


KK 


514  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

friends  ;  he  will  receive  you.  You  are  skilled  in  book- 
keeping and  he  will  employ  you  in  his  shop.  Will  you 
go  now,  or  wait  until  the  spring  ?  Winter  will  soon  be 
here,  and  your  clothes  are  but  poor.  You  might  easily 
get  frozen  to  death." 

"  I  will  go  now.  Father,  at  once  !  " 

"  Well,   God  speed  your  journey,   my  son." 

Father  Nicodemus  gave  Tichon  his  blessing  and  the 
promised  letter,  which  he  allowed  him  to  read  : — 

"  To  my  beloved  brother  in  Christ,  Parphen  Paramon- 
itch,  grace  be  unto  thee.  The  bearer  of  this  letter  is  the 
youth  Tichon.  He  is  no  longer  satisfied  with  stale  bread, 
he  craves  for  savoury  cakes  to  satisfy  his  hunger.  Peace 
be  unto  you  all,  and  grace  from  our  Lord. 

"  The  humble  Father  Nicodemus." 

Tichon  started  for  Moscow  with  a  cart-load  of  fish,  as 
soon  as  the  winter  roads  could  be  depended  on. 

Saphiannikoff's  flour  stores  were  at  the  corner  of  the 
third  Mieshanski  Street  and  the  small  Suhareff  Square. 

In  spite  of  the  letter  from  Father  Nicodemus,  Tichon 
was  received  not  without  suspicion.  For  a  trial  he  was 
appointed  to  assist  the  house-porter  in  heavy  manual 
work.  When  they  found  he  did  not  drink,  but  worked 
well  and  knew  how  to  cast  figures  up  correctly,  he  was 
taken  into  the  shop,  and  entrusted  with  the  account  books. 

There  was  nothing  special  about  this  shop.  There  was 
buying,  selling,  and  talks  about  gain  and  loss.  Only  now 
and  then,  in  corners,  mysterious  whispers  were  exchanged. 

One  day,  Mitka  the  porter,  an  awkward  kindly  giant, 
white  with  flour  dust,  while  removing  the  flour  sacks, 
began  to  sing  in  Tichon' s  presence  a  strange  song  : — 

Once  in  holy  Russia, 

Stonewalled  mother  Moscow, 

In  the  street  Mestchanskaia, 

Two  dear  friends  encountered, 

Both  radiant  as  the  sun. 

Low  bowed  Ivan  Timofeyevitch, 

Salutes  his  friend,   the  other — Daniel  Philipovitch, 

"  Welcome  to  my  palace, 

Welcome  to  my  table 

To  eat  bread  and  salt. 

I  have  longed  to  hear  thee  say 

What  thy  designs  are  for  the  Judgment  Day." 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  515 

"  Mitka,  Mitka,  who  are  they  ?  Daniel  Phihpovitch 
and  Ivan  Timofeyevitch  ?  "    asked   Tichon. 

Taken  by  surprise,  Mitka  stopped  short,  bending  under 
the  weight  of  a  large  sack,  his  eyes  expressing  great  amaze- 
ment : — 

"  Don't  you  know  the  God  Sabaoth  and  Christ  !  " 

"  How  can  the  Lord  Sabaoth  and  Christ  be  said  to  meet 
in  Mestchanskaia  Street  ?  "  continued  Tichon  with  increas- 
ing surprise. 

But  Mitka  already  realized  he  had  said  too  much  and 
went  off,  growling  in  a  gloomy  voice  : — 

"  Much  knowledge  will  make  you  old  before  your  time." 

Soon  after  this  Mitka  fell  ill.  He  had  probably  strained 
himself  with  lifting  the  heavy  sacks.  For  days  he  lay  in 
his  underground  room,  moaning  and  groaning.  Tichon 
went  to  see  him,  gave  him  sage-brandy  to  drink  and  rubbed 
him  with  camphorated  spirit  and  other  medicaments, 
obtained  from  a  friendly  German  apothecary.  It  was 
damp  in  the  cellar  and  Tichon  removed  Mitka  to  his  own 
warm  bright  room  over  the  main  storehouse.  Mitka  was 
affectionate.  He  became  attached  to  Tichon,  and  began 
to  talk  more  openly  with  him. 

Tichon  gathered  from  these  talks  and  Mitka's  songs, 
that  at  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Tsar  Alexis  Michailo- 
vitch,  in  the  Murom  district,  before  a  great  crowd  of  people, 
the  Lord  Sabaoth,  surrounded  by  angels,  archangels 
Cherubim  and  Seraphim,  had  come  down  from  heaven  in 
a  fiery  chariot.  The  angels  returned  to  heaven,  the  Lord 
remained  and  entered  the  pure  body  of  Daniel  Phihpovitch, 
a  soldier  deserter,  declaring  the  peasant  Ivan  Timofeye- 
vitch to  be  his  Only  Begotten  Son,  Jesus  Christ,  and  they 
set  out  wandering  through  the  world  in  the  guise  of  two 
beggars. 

Escaping  from  persecutors  they  suffered  cold  and  hun- 
ger ;  they  were  obliged  to  hide  themselves  in  pig-sties, 
in  fetid  ditches,  or  to  sleep  under  haj^stacks.  One  day  a 
peasant  woman  concealed  them  in  the  cellar  under  a 
cattle  shed.  The  cattle  drainage  from  the  floor  oozed 
through  into  the  cellar.  Daniel  Phihpovitch  on  seeing  it, 
said  to  Ivan  Timofeyevitch  :  "  You  will  get  wet,"  and  Ivan 
answered  :  "  It  is  nothing,  if  only  you,  my  king,  remain  dry." 


5i6  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

They  spent  the  last  years  of  their  lives  in  Moscow,  on  the 
Mestchanskaya  Street,  in  a  separate  house,  called  "  Zion." 
They  both  died  there  and  in  glory  ascended  into  heaven.^ 

After  Ivan  Timofeyevitch,  the  same  as  before  him, 
many  Christs  revealed  themselves,  since  the  Lord  resides 
nowhere  more  readily  than  in  a  pure  human  body.  It  is 
written  :  "  Ye  are  the  temples  of  the  living  God."  God 
begets  a  Christ  whenever  the  world  is  in  danger  of  dying. 
Christ  accomplished  His  work  in  one  body  and  has  begun 
it  in  several  others. 

"  This  means  there  are  many  Christs  ?  "  said  Tichon. 

"  There  is  one  spirit,  Christ,  yet  the  bodies  in  which  He 
appears  are  many,"  replied  Mitka. 

"  Is  there  a  Christ  now  ?  "  continued  Tichon,  his  heart 
sinking  in  anticipation  of  a  mystery. 

Mitka  assented  with  a  nod. 

"  Where  is  He  ?  " 

"  Do  not  question.  I  dare  not  answer.  You  will  see 
for  yourself,  if  you  are  found  worthy." 

Mitka  would  say  no  more. 

"  I  will  not  deliver  your  secret  to  the  enemy,"  remembered 
Tichon. 

A  few  days  later  he  was  busy  at  his  account  books. 
It  was  Saturday  evening.  The  shop  was  closed.  A 
train  of  waggons  had  come,  and  men  were  carrying  in  the 
flour  bags.  The  cold  white  air  rushed  in  through  the  open 
door,  footsteps  sounded  on  the  snow,  the  church  bells  were 
ringing.  The  snow-covered  roofs  of  the  weather-beaten 
log-houses,  flushed  with  the  evening  glow,  stood  out  against 
the  golden  purple  of  the  sky.  It  was  quite  dark  in  the 
shop  ;  only  at  the  end,  amidst  the  towering  flour  sacks 
the  dai^kness  was  relieved  by  a  lamp  glimmering  before 
the  iron  of  St.  Nicholas. 

Saphiannikoff,  a  fat,  white-haired  old  man.  a  veritable 
Father  Christmas,  and  the  chief  clerk,  Yemclian  Retivoi, 
a  corpulent  red-haired,  bald  man,  with  the  ugly  intelligent 
face  of  a  faun,  were  drinking  hot  "  sbiten  "  and  listening 
to  Tichon's  narrative  about  the  settlers  of  Kerjenetz. 

"  And  what  is  your  opinion,  Yemelian  Ivanovitch  ?  " 
asked  Tichon,  "  where  can  salvation  be  found,  in  the  old 
or  the  new  books  ?  " 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  517 

"  There  once  lived  in  Russia  a  man  called  Daniel  Phili- 
povitch,"  began  Yemelian  with  a  smile,  "he  read  all  the 
books,  and  finding  little  good  in  them,  he  gathered  them 
all  together  in  a  bag  and  threw  them  into  the  Volga. 
Salvation  lies  neither  in  the  old  nor  in  the  new  books,  but  in 

The  Golden  Book, 
The  Book  of  Life, 
The  Book  of  the  Dove, 
The  Holy  Ghost  Himself." 

the  last  words  he  sang  in  the  same  rhythm  Mitka  used  for 
his  strange  songs. 

"  Where  is  that  book  ?  "  asked  Tichon  in  a  shy  eager 
voice. 

"  There,  look  !  " 

He  pointed  to  the  sky  through  the  open  door. 

"  That  is  the  book  ;  the  Lord  God  Himself  wTites  upon 
it  with  the  golden  words  of  eternal  life.  Having  read  them, 
you  will  fathom  all  mysteries  in  heaven  and  on  earth." 

Yemelian  looked  steadily  at  him,  and  Tichon  felt  thrilled 
by  sudden  fear,  as  though  he  had  looked  into  some  dark, 
transparent,  bottomless  pool. 

Yemelian,  exchanging  glances  with  his  master,  suddenly 
stopped. 

"  Does  this  mean  that  salvation  can  be  found  neither  in 
the  old  nor  the  new  Church  ?  "  Tichon  hastened  to  ques- 
tion, afraid  lest  Yemelian,  like  Mitka,  would  say  no  more. 

"  What  is  your  Church  ?  "  Yemelian  shrugged  his 
shoulder  in  contempt.  "  An  anthill,  a  dilapidated  syna- 
gogue, a  Jewish  market  !  Its  spiritual  life  has  been  lost 
in  its  rites  and  buildings.  She  used  to  be  a  spirit  and 
a  fire,  but  now  she  has  become  precious  stones  and  gold, 
or  icons  and  priests'  palls.  God's  word  has  become  stale, 
like  old  dry  bread  which  breaks  the  teeth  and  cannot  be 
chewed." 

And  leaning  over  to  Tichon,  he  added  in  a  whisper  : — 

"  There  is  a  true,  mysterious,  new  church,  a  bright  hall 
of  Zion,  whose  framework  is  made  of  cypress,  barberry 
and  anise-wood.  Not  dry  crusts,  but  soft  fresh  cakes, 
straight  from  the  oven,  are  served  out  there  ;  words  of 
life  out  of  the  mouths  of  prophets.     Heavenly  joy  abounds 


5i8  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

in  it,  and  spiritual  drink  about  which  the  Church  sings  : 
*  Come  !  and  drink  from  the  new,  incorruptible  spring 
which  flows  from  the  tomb  of  the  living  Christ  !  '  " 

"  Ah,  what  a  drink !  there  is  no  need  to  sip  it,  to  look  at 
it  is  sufficient,"  exclaimed  Par  fen  Paramonitch,  and  raising 
his  eyes,  he  began  to  chant  in  a  quite  unexpectedly  high- 
pitched  voice  : — 

God  Himself  has  brewed   the  drink, 
The  Holy  Ghost  has  mingled  it. 

Yemelian  and  Mitka  chimed  in,  beating  time  with  their 
feet,  twitching  their  shoulders,  as  if  eager  to  whirl  away 
in  a  dance.     All  three  had  a  Bacchantic  look  in  their  eyes- 
God  Himself  has  brewed  the  drink, 
The  Holy  Ghost  has  mingled  it, 
The  Holy  Virgin   tapped  it, 
Together  with  God   they  worked  ; 
Holy  angels,  Cherubim, 
Took  it  round  and  carried  it. 

Tichon  thought  he  could  hear  the  stamping  of  many 
feet,  the  echo  of  a  whirling  frantic  dance  ;  there  was  some- 
thing wild,  and  moenad-like  in  this  song,  which  robbed  one's 
breath  and  at  the  same  time  roused  the  longing  to  be  ever 
listening  to  it. 

All  at  once,  as  suddenly  as  they  began,  the  three  men 
stopped. 

Yemelian  started  to  look  over  the  account  books,  Mitka 
lifted  up  the  bag  and  went  his  way.  Parfen  Paramonitch 
passed  his  hand  over  his  face,  as  if  wiping  something  from 
it.  He  rose,  yawned,  stretched  himself  lazily,  and  crossing 
his  mouth,  said  in  his  usual  voice,  as  he  was  wont  to  say 
every  night  : — 

"  Go  and  have  your  supper,  lads  !  the  soup  and  kasha 
will  be  getting  cold." 

And  again  all  became  ordinary  and  common  place. 

Tichon,  too,  had  risen,  but  all  at  once,  as  if  impelled 
by  some  power,  he  fell  on  his  knees,  pale  and  trembling, 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  cried  : — 

"  Friends,  have  compassion  on  me  !  I  can  endure  it 
no  longer.     My  soul  has  worn  itself  out  with  longing  for 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  519 

the  courts  of  the  Lord  !  Accept  me  into  your  holy  com- 
munion, unveil  to  me  your  great  mystery  !  " 

"  See,  see,  how  impatient  the  lad  is !  "  Yemelian 
looked  at  him  with  his  cunning  smile,  "  You  are  too 
hasty,  my  friend.  The  Father  has  first  to  be  asked. 
Perhaps  you  will  be  found  worthy,  but  meanwhile  remain 
silent." 

They  all  went  to  supper,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
Neither  on  the  morrow  nor  on  the  following  days  was  there 
any  mention  made  of  mysteries.  Whenever  Tichon 
ventured  to  allude  to  what  had  happened,  the  others  re- 
mained silent  and  looked  at  him  with  suspicion.  It  was  as 
if  a  curtain  had  been  drawn  up  for  a  moment  and  then 
suddenly  dropped  again.  Yet  he  could  not  forget  what 
he  had  seen.  He  went  about  no  longer  his  old  self.  What 
was  said  to  him  he  did  not  understand  ;  he  answered 
wrongly  and  made  mistakes  in  his  accounts.  The  master 
scolded  him.     Tichon   feared  he  would  be  dismissed. 

The  next  Saturday,  late  at  night,  he  was  sitting  alone 
in  his  room,  when  in  came  Mitka. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  in  a  hurried  voice. 

"  Whither  ?  " 

"  To  see  the  Father." 

Afraid  to  question,  Tichon  hurriedly  dressed  and  came 
down.  He  saw  his  master's  sleigh  waiting  at  the  door. 
In  it  sat  Yemelian  and  Parfen  Paramonitch,  the  latter 
wrapped  in  a  fur  coat.  Tichon  cowered  at  their  feet, 
Mitka  seated  himself  on  the  box  and  away  they  sped  through 
the  dark,  deserted  streets.  The  night  was  calm  and  bright. 
Pellucid,  pearly  cloudlets  covered  the  moon.  They  crossed 
the  river  on  the  ice  and  for  some  time  wound  their  way 
along  the  dark  narrow  lanes  about  Samoskvosetchia.  At 
last  the  dull  pink  walls  of  the  Donskoi  Monastery,  sur- 
mounted by  white  pinnacles  and  towers,  appeared  through 
the  luminous  gloom. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Donskoi  and  Shakelskoi  Street  they 
got  out  of  the  sleigh,  and  Mitka  left  the  horse  in  a  court. 
They  continued  their  way  on  foot  past  old  wooden  fences 
banked  with  snow.  Then  they  turned  into  a  lane  where 
the  snow  came  almost  up  to  their  knees.  On  reaching  a 
double  gate,  hung  on   iron   hinges,  they  knocked.    They 


520  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

were  only  admitted  after  they  had  said  who  they  were  and 
whence  they  came.  They  stepped  into  a  court  surrounded 
by  buildings.  Yet  with  the  exception  of  the  gate-keepei 
nobody  was  visible,  no  light,  not  even  the  bark  of  a  dog 
was  heard — dead  silence.  On  leavmg  the  courtyard  they 
continued  their  way  along  a  narrow,  well-used  path,  be- 
tween two  high  banks  of  snow,  across  some  back- yards  : 
whether  wastes  or  gardens  it  was  difficult  to  say.  Passing 
through  a  second  gate,  they  entered  an  orchard  ;  the  apple 
and  cheery  trees  in  their  wintry  dress  seemed  covered  by 
white  blossoms.  The  silence  was  so  intense  that  they  might 
have  been  a  hundred  miles  away  from  human  habitation. 
At  the  end  of  the  garden  rose  a  large  wooden  house.  They 
went  up  to  the  door,  knocked  and  again  they  were  ques- 
tioned. A  stem-looking  lad  whose  dress  suggested  a 
monastic  novice  admitted  them.  In  the  spacious  hall,  the 
walls,  chests,  and  benches  were  covered  with  a  number  of 
overcoats,  belonging  to  men  and  women  :  simple  sheep-skins, 
rich  fur  coats,  ancient  Russian  caps,  new-fashioned  hoods. 

When  they  had  taken  off  their  coats,  Yemelian  thrice 
asked  Tichon  : — 

"  Dost  thou  desire,  my  son,  to  be  initiated  into  God's 
mystery  ?  " 

And  Tichon  thrice  answered  : — 

"  I  do." 

Yemelian  blindfolded  him  and  led  him  by  the  hand. 

They  went  along  endless  corridors,  now  going  down,  now 
going  up  staircases. 

At  last  they  stopped.  Yemelian  ordered  Tichon  to  un- 
dress, and  then  put  on  him  a  long  linen  tunic,  on  his  feet 
cotton  stockings,  repeating  the  words  from  Revelation  : — 
"  He  that  overcometh  shall  be  clothed  in  white  raiment." 

After  this  they  continued  their  way.  The  last  staircase 
was  so  steep  that  Tichon  was  obliged  to  grip  with  both 
hands  Mitka's  shoulders,  for  fear  of  slipping. 

They  were  met  by  a  smell  of  damp  earth,  which  seemed 
to  issue  from  a  cellar.  A  last  door  opened  and  they  entered 
a  heated  apartment,  where  judging  by  the  whispering 
and  jostling  of  feet  a  large  number  were  assembled.  Yeme- 
lian made  Tichon  kneel,  bow  thrice  to  the  ground  and 
repeat  the  words  he  was  whispering  into  his  ear  : — ■ 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  521 

"  I  swear  by  my  soul,  my  God  and  His  terrible  last 
Judgment,  to  suffer  the  knout,  the  fire,  the  axe,  the  block, 
every  torture,  even  death,  rather  than  forsake  the  Holy 
Faith,  and  also  to  relate  to  no  one,  neither  to  my  confessor 
nor  my  father,  whatever  I  will  hear  or  see  here.  I  wall  not 
deliver  thy  secret  to  the  enemy,  nor  give  the  kiss  of  Judas. 
Amen." 

When  he  ended  he  was  led  to  a  bench  and  the  bandage 
was  removed  from  his  eyes. 

He  saw  a  large  low  room  ;  holy  icons  stood  in  the  corner. 
Before  them  numerous  lit  tapers  ;  the  whitewashed  wall 
was  marked  with  dark  spots  of  damp ;  water  penetrated 
through  the  cracks  between  the  black  tarred  planks. 

The  air  was  as  close  as  in  a  vapour  bath.  Circles  of 
iridescent  light  surrounded  the  flames  of  the  candles,  the 
benches  along  the  walls  were  occupied  by  men  on  one 
side,  and  women  on  the  other,  and  all  were  wearing  the 
same  white  tunics,  cotton  stockings  and  no  boots. 

"  The  Queen,  the  Queen,"  they  reverently  whispered. 
The  door  opened  and  in  came  a  tall,  slender  woman  in  a 
black  dress  with  a  white  handkerchief  on  her  head.  All  rose 
and  bowed  low  to  her. 

"  Akoulina  Makejevna,  the  heavenly  Queen,"  Mitka 
whispered  to  Tichon.  The  woman  went  up  and  sat  down 
under  the  icons,  herself  resembling  an  icon.  All  began 
to  go  up  to  her  and  bow  before  her,  kissing  her  knee. 

Yemelian  took  Tichon  to  her  and  said  : — 

"  Baptise  him,  mother.     He  is  new." 

Tichon  knelt  and  looked  at  her  :  she  was  dark,  no  longer 
young,  about  forty,  with  little  wrinkles  in  the  corners  near 
her  dark  eyelashes ;  her  black  thick  eyebrows  were 
almost  grown  together,  and  she  had  a  slight  black  down 
on  her  upper  lip,  "  quite  like  a  Tzuigane  or  a  Circassian," 
he  thought.  But  when  she  looked  at  him  with  her  large, 
soft,  black  eyes  he  realized  how  beautiful  she  was. 

The  Queen  thrice  made  a  sign  of  blessing  him  with  a 
iit  taper,  almost  touching  his  forehead,  chest  and  shoulders 
with  the  flame. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  the  Son  and  the  Holy 
Spirit.  Tichon,  the  servant  of  God,  is  baptised  with  fire  and 
the  Holy  Spirit  !  "     Then  with  a  quick,  adroit,  and  evi- 


522  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

dently  accustomed  movement,  she  opened  her  dress,  and 
he  saw  her  beautiful  naked  body,  fresh  as  a  young  maiden's, 
amber  coloured,  as  if  carved  from  ivory. 

Yemelian  pushed  him  forward  whispering  : — 

"  Kiss  the  holy  womb,  the  pure  breasts." 

Tichon  cast  his  eyes  to  the  ground  in  confusion. 

"  Fear  not,  child  !  "  said  Akoulina,  and  such  tenderness 
was  in  her  voice  that  Tichon  seemed  to  hear  in  it  the 
voice  of  a  mother,  sister,  and  beloved  all  in  one. 

He  remembered  how,  in  the  dark  wood  near  the  Round 
Lake,  he  had  buried  his  head  among  the  grass  and  kissed 
the  earth,  how  looking  up  towards  heaven,  he  had  felt  that 
the  earth  and  the  sky  were  one,  and  how  weeping  he  had 
prayed  : — 

O  wondrous  Queen,  Mother  of  God, 
Earth,  thou  bountiful  mother  of  all. 

He  reverently  kissed  the  beautiful  body  thrice,  like  a 
holy  image.  A  subtle  scent  rose  from  it  ;  a  subtle  smile 
flitted  across  her  lips.  This  scent  and  the  smile  terrified 
him. 

But  the  dress  closed,  and  again  she  sat  before  him,  majes- 
tic and  severe,  a  saint, — an  icon  among  icons. 

When  Tichon  returned  with  Yemelian  to  their  place 
the  whole  assembly  began  to  sing  in  a  melancholy  drawn 
voice  : — 

Send  us  Lord  Thy  Christ, 

Send  us  Lord  Thy  Son, 

Send  the  Holy  Spirit,   the  Comforter. 

For  a  moment  they  remained  hushed  ;  and  then  the 
singing  was  renewed,  but  this  time  it  was  merry,  quick, 
as  if  for  a  dance  ;  the  people  stamped  with  their  feet, 
clapped  with  their  hands,  and  their  eyes  had  a  look  of 
ecstasy  : — 

On  the  river  Don 

Christ  dwells  in  our  homes. 

With  His  Angels 

And  Archangels, 

With  cherubim 

And  seraphim. 

And  the  holy  host  of  Heaven. 
Suddenly  a  venerable  old  man  started  from  his  seat. 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  523 

his  ascetic  face  resembled  Holy  Sergius,  as  he  is  painted 
on  icons  ;  he  ran  out  into  the  middle  of  the  room  and  began 
to  whirl  round. 

Then  a  young  girl,  about  fourteen,  quite  a  child,  yet 
already  pregnant,  slender  as  a  reed,  with  a  neck  long  as  the 
stalk  of  a  flower,  also  started  up  and  went  round  with  the 
grace  of  a  swan. 

"  That  is  Marioushka  the  idiot,"  said  Yemelian,  pointing 
to  her,  "she  can  hardly  speak,  mostly  lows,  but  when 
filled  with  the  spirit  she  sings  like  a  nightingale." 

The  girl  sang  in  a  child-like  silvery  voice  : — 

'Tis  enough  for  you  to  sit. 

Time  has  come  for  the  birds  to  flit. 

From  prison  and  cells, 

And  shadowy  caverns. 

Her  waving  arms  suggested  wings. 

Parfen  Paramonitch  ran  up  to  Marioushka,  took  her  by 
the  hands  and  began  to  whirl  her  round  and  round,  like  a 
polar  bear  dancing  with  a  snow  fairy.  Tichon  would  have 
never  believed  that  this  huge,  portly  body  could  dance 
with  such  ethereal  lightness.  Spinning  round  like  a  top 
he  sang  in  his  high-pitched  voice  : — 

In  the  seventh  heaven 
Christ  is  spinning  round. 
Ah,  friends  !  ah,  friends  ! 
Christ  has  shoes 
Made  of  Saphia  leather, 
Stitched  with  finest  stitches. 

Other  people  rose  and  began  to  spin  round. 

A  man  with  a  wooden  leg  went  round  as  nimbly  as  the 
rest.  Tichon  was  told  afterwards  that  his  name  was 
Captain  Smoorigin  ;  he  had  lost  his  leg  at  the  storming 
of  Azov. 

A  short  fat  lady  with  dignified  gray  curls.  Princess 
Khovansky,  spun  round  like  a  ball.  Next  to  her  a  loose- 
limbed  cobbler  was  prancing,  throwing  his  feet  and  arms 
about ;  he  twisted  and  twirled  himself  like  a  huge  gnat, 
a  "  Daddy-long-legs,"  ejaculating  from  time  to  time  : — 

Dancing  and  burning, 
On  we  go  to  Zion's  hill ! 


524  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

By  this  time  nearly  all  had  joined  the  dance,  not  only 
singly  but  in  pairs  and  groups  representing  "  walls," 
"  corners,"  "  crosses,"  "  David's  ship,"  and  "  flowers,"  etc. 

"  The  various  figures,"  explained  Yemelian  to  Tichon, 
"  represent  the  dances  of  the  heavenly  hosts  of  angels  and 
archangels  round  the  throne  of  God  ;  the  waving  of  arms 
imitates  the  beating  of  angel's  wings.  The  heavens  and 
the  earth  are  one  ;  what  happens  there  is  enacted  here 
also." 

The  dance  grew  more  and  more  rapid  ;  it  seemed  as  if 
a  whirlwind  filled  the  room,  and  they  were  no  longer  danc- 
ing themselves,  but  some  external  power  was  whirling 
them  round  with  such  rapidity  that  their  faces  could  no 
longer  be  discerned  ;  the  hair  on  the  head  stood  upright, 
the  tunics  blew  out  like  funnels,  and  men  were  transformed 
into  white  spinning  columns.  Some  hissed,  others  cackled, 
others  again  screamed  in  frenzy,  and  again  it  seemed  that 
not  they  themselves,  but  some  external  power  was  scream- 
ing through  their  mouths. 

He  has  filled  us,   He  has  filled  us, 
Holy,   Holy  Spirit, 
Fill  us,  fill  us,  fill  us  ! 

They  fell  on  the  ground  in  convulsions,  with  foaming 
mouths,  like  madmen  ;  they  prophesied,  but  for  the  most 
part  it  was  impossible  to  make  out  what  they  meant. 
Some  stopped  short  in  exhaustion,  their  faces  either  crim- 
son or  deadly  white.  Sweat  poured  down  them  in  streams  ; 
they  mopped  themselves  with  towels,  wrung  their  drenched 
tunics  out,  making  pools  on  the  floor.  And  after  a  brief  rest 
they  recommenced  their  dance. 

Suddenly  the  dancers  stopped,  and  fell  with  their  faces 
to  the  ground.  A  dead  silence  ensued,  and  again,  as  before 
the  Queen's  entry,  a  reverent  whisper  passed  through 
the  room. 

"  The  King,  the  King  !  " 

In  came  a  man,  of  about  thirty,  arrayed  in  a  long  white 
semi-transparent  gown.  He  had  a  feminine  face,  like  that 
of  Akoulina  Makejevna.  It  was  not  Russian,  yet  of  singu- 
lar and  winning  beauty. 

"  Who  is  this  ?  "  asked  Tichon. 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  525 

"  Christ,  the  Lord,"  answered  Mitka,  who  lay  next  to 
him. 

Tichon  learnt  afterwards  that  he  was  a  runaway  Cossack, 
Averian  by  name,  the  son  of  a  Cossack  and  a  captive 
Greek  woman. 

The  King  went  up  to  the  Queen,  who  respectfully  rose 
before  him,  and  embraced  and  kissed  her  three  times. 

Coming  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  he  stepped  upon 
a  little  round  platform,  made  of  boards  like  those  which 
cover  springs. 

Then  all  began  to  sing  in  a  loud  solemn  voice  : — 

The  seventh  heaven  opened, 

A  golden  chariot  descended, 

Both  golden  and  fiery. 

The  Holy  Ghost  Himself  is  driving, 

His  white  horse  is  marvellous, 

The  tail  is  of  strings  of  pearls. 

Fire  burns  within  its  nostrils. 

Its  eyes  are  precious  stones. 

He  descends,   He  descends. 

Holy,   Holy  Spirit, 

Come,  come  to  us  ! 

The  King  blessed  his  children,  and  again  the  dancing 
began,  only  more  frenzied  than  ever  ;  the  Queen  at  the 
end  of  the  room,  the  King  in  the  centre  of  the  whirling 
circles,  alone  remained  motionless.  From  time  to  time 
the  King  slowly  raised  his  arms  ;  and  every  time  the  dance 
grew  faster.     Inhuman  shrieks  rose  up  : — 

"  Eva,  Evoe  ;    Eva,  Evoe  !  " 

Tichon  remembered  reading  in  old  Latin  commentaries 
of  Pausanias,  that  the  ancient  Bacchantes  were  supposed 
to  greet  the  god  Dionysus  with  almost  the  same  sounding 
cries  :  "  Evan,  Evoe  !  "  By  what  miracle  did  the  mysteries 
of  the  dead  god  penetrate  here,  filtering  by  channels  of 
subterranean  waters,  from  the  summit  of  Mount  Cithaeron 
into  this  out-of-the-way  corner  of  Moscow  ? 

He  contemplated  the  white  troop  of  whirling  dancers 
and  at  times  he  lost  consciousness.  Time  had  stopped  ; 
everything  had  vanished  ;  there  was  nothing  but  whiteness, 
a  white  abyss,  into  which  w'hite  birds  were  falling.  Nothing 
existed,  he  himself  no  longer  existed.  Only  the  white 
precipice, — the  white  death. 


526  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

He  recovered  when  Yemelian  took  him  by  the  hand, 
saying:  — "  Let  us  go  !  " 

Although  the  dayhght  did  not  penetrate  into  the  cellar, 
Tichon  felt  that  dawn  was  near.  The  burnt-down  candles 
were  smoking.  The  air  was  unbearably  close  and  un- 
pleasant. The  pools  of  sweat  on  the  floor  were  being  mopped 
up  with  rags.  The  night  watch  had  come  to  an  end.  The 
King  and  the  Queen  had  gone  out.  Some  of  the  people, 
groping  their  way  towards  the  exit,  crept  along  like  stupe- 
fied ifies.  Others  had  fallen  to  the  ground  and  lay  as  in 
a  deep  swoon.  Others,  again,  hanging  their  heads  sat  on 
the  benches  with  faces  like  drunkards  taken  with  nausea. 
The  white  birds  had  fallen  to  earth,  mortally  wounded. 

After  that  night  Tichon  did  not  miss  a  single  meeting, 
Mitka  taught  him  how  to  dance.  At  first  he  was  shy, 
but  he  got  used  to  it,  and  soon  the  dance  became  a  neces- 
sity to  him. 

Each  time  new  mysteries  were  revealed  to  him. 

Yet  it  seemed  that  the  essential  and  most  terrible  mystery 
was  as  yet  concealed.  From  what  he  saw  and  heard  he 
gathered  that  the  brethren  and  sisters  lived  in  carnal  inter- 
course. 

"  We  Cherubin  and  angels,  live  in  purity  of  the  fire," 
said  they.  "  There  is  no  sin,  when  a  brother  and  sister  of 
the  faith  live  together  in  true,  christian  love  ;  but  vile  and 
sinful  is  the  wedlock  sanctified  by  the  Church.  Before 
God  it  is  vile  ;  before  men  insolent.  A  husband  and 
wife  are  the  abode  of  the  devil ;  children  are  unclean 
brats." 

Children  born  of  husbands  not  belonging  to  this  sect 
were  exposed  by  their  mothers  in  public  baths,  or  else 
strangled. 

One  day  Mitka  naively  told  Tichon  that  he  lived  with 
his  own  two  sisters,  both  nuns  ;  while  Yemelian,  a  teacher 
and  prophet,  had  thirteen  wives. 

Whoever  confessed  to  him  had  become  his  mistress. 
Tichon  was  naturally  troubled  by  these  unspeakable  revela- 
tions. For  some  days  he  avoided  Yemelian,  and  dared 
not  look  into  his  face.  Yemelian  noticed  this  confusion, 
and  said  to  him  when  alone  : — 

"  Listen,  young  man,  I  will  reveal  to  you  a  great  mystery. 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  527 

If  you  wish  to  live,  mortify  for  God's  sake,  not  only  your 
body,  but  your  soul,  your  reason,  even  your  conscience. 
Free  yourself  of  all  rule  and  law,  of  all  virtue,  of  fasting, 
abstinence,  virginity.  Discard  all  sanctity.  Descend  into 
yourself,  as  into  a  tomb.  Then,  mysteriously  dead,  you 
will  rise  and  the  Holy  Spirit  will  dwell  within  you  and 
will  not  leave  you  whatever  you  do." 

Yemelian's  ugly  face,  the  faun-mask,  lit  up  with  such 
sly  audacity  that  gi^eat  fear  possessed  Tichon  ;  he  asked 
himself  whether  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  prophet  or  a 
madman. 

"  You  are  scandalised  to  see  us  commit  what  ordinary 
people  call  immorality.  We  know  that  we  do  not  conform 
to  your  code  of  morality.  Yet  how  can  we  help  it  ?  We 
have  no  will  of  our  own.  The  spirit  works  in  us  and  our 
most  frantic  actions  are  the  mysterious  results  of  God's 
providence.  To  quote  my  own  case,  my  conscience  does 
not  accuse  me  for  living  with  women  ;  on  the  contrary 
it  fills  my  heart  with  inexpressible  joy  and  sweetness. 
Should  an  angel  come  down  from  heaven  and  tell  me, 
'  Your  life  is  evil,  Yemelian,'  I  would  not  listen  to  him. 
My  God  has  justified  me,  and  who  are  you  to  judge.  You 
know  my  sin,  but  you  ignore  God's  grace  towards  me. 
You  tell  me  '  Repent,'  and  I  answer,  '  I  have  nothing  to 
repent  of !  '  He  who  has  reached  the  goal,  does  not  trouble 
about  the  way  he  has  come.  If  you  banish  us  to  Hell, 
we  shall  be  saved  even  there  ;  send  us  to  Paradise,  we 
shall  not  find  there  greater  joy  than  here.  We  are  immersed 
in  the  Spirit  as  a  stone  in  water.  Yet  we  have  to  conceal 
ourselves  ;  we  assume  guilelessness  to  prevent  discovery. 
That's  our  position,  my  child." 

Yemelian  looked  at  Tichon  with  an  ambiguous  smile, 
and  the  latter  experienced  that  same  sensation  which 
the  dance  roused  in  him  :  the  sensation  of  whirling  flight. 
But  whither  ?  Whether  up  to  God  or  down  to  the  devil 
he  knew  not. 

One  night  during  the  week  preceding  Palm  Sunday, 
the  Queen  distributed  small  branches  of  palms  and  holy 
scourges,  made  of  narrow  twisted  napkins.  The  brethren 
let  down  their  tunics  to  the  waist,  the  sisters  lowered 
theirs,  at  the  back  down  the  waist,  in  front  to  their  bosom. 


528  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

and  they  all  began  to  spin  round,  beating  themselves  with 
the   scourges   and   the   palms.     Some  were  singing  : — 

Serve  the  Lord, 
Despise  your  bodies, 
Serve  the  Lord, 
Despise  Martha. 

Others  chanted  in  a  whistling  tone  : — 

The  lash  whizzes  through  the  air  ! 
We  are  seeking  Christ  ! 

Many  were  beating  themselves  with  bullets  tied  in  lags, 
like  slings  ;  others  were  cutting  themselves  with  knives, 
blood  was  flowing.     Looking  at  the  King,  they  all  shouted  : 

"  Eva.    Evoe  !     Eva,  Evoe  !  " 

Tichon  flogged  himself  with  his  scourge,  and  under  the 
tender  gaze  of  Akoulina,  who  appeared  to  be  looking  at 
him  alone,  the  pain  became  more  and  more  pleasant.  Like 
wax  before  fire,  so  his  body  seemed  to  melt  in  voluptuous- 
ness ;  he  wished  to  melt  and  burn  away  before  the  Queen, 
like  a  candle  before  an  icon. 

The  lights  now  began  to  go  out,  one  after  another,  as 
if  the  whirl  of  the  dance  were  blowing  them  out.  Dark- 
ness ensued,  and  in  the  darkness  (as  in  the  chapel  of  the 
"  Self -burners  "  on  the  eve  of  the  Red  Death)  strange 
whispers,  rustles,  kisses  and  sighings  of  love  were  heard. 
Bodies  interlaced  ;  they  became  in  the  vast  darkness  one 
immeasurable  body.  Eager  and  tenacious  hands  reached 
out  after  Tichon,  caught  hold  of  him  and  threw  him  down. 

"  Tichon,  Tichon,  darling,  my  bridegroom,  my  beloved 
Christ  !  "  a  passionate  voice  whispered  to  him.  He  recog- 
nized it  as  the  Queen's. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  some  huge  insects,  male  and 
female  spiders,  had  rolled  together  and  were  devouring 
one  another  in  loathsome  lust. 

He  repulsed  the  Queen,  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  tried  to 
escape.  But  at  each  turn  he  came  upon  naked  penons, 
stepped  on  them,  slipped,  fell,  and  again  rose.  Mean- 
while greedy  and  tenacious  hands  were  clutching  him, 
seeking  to  detain  him,  caressing  him  with  obscene  caresses. 
He  grew  weak  and  felt  that  he  would  soon  sink  into  this 
terrible  body  of  carnality,  as  if  absorbed  into  the  dark 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  529 

warm  mud  of  a  hot  swamp ;  that  everything  would  be 
reversed,  and  that  in  this  final  fear  he  would  attain  ecstasy. 

With  desperate  effort  he  disengaged  himself,  rushed  for- 
ward, reached  the  door  and  caught  hold  of  the  handle. 
He  tried  to  open  it.  It  was  locked.  He  fell  to  the  ground 
exhausted.  Here  there  were  fewer  persons  than  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and  he  gained  momentary  rest. 

Suddenly  again,  hands  were  touching  him,  little  thin 
hands  like  those  of  a  child.  He  heard  the  stuttering  of 
Marioushka  the  idiot  ;  she  was  vainly  trying  to  speak. 
By  degrees  he  caught  several  words. 

"  Come,    come I    will    lead    you    out "      She 

dragged  him  by  the  hand.  He  felt  a  key  in  the  hand  of 
the  girl  ;    and  followed  her. 

She  led  him  along  the  walls  to  the  icons.  Here  she 
stopped  and  made  him  do  the  same  ;  then,  raising  a  curtain 
which  hung  under  the  icon  of  Christ,  she  found  a  little 
door,  a  kind  of  trap-door,  opened  it,  disappeared  into  it 
with  the  swiftness  of  a  lizard.  Tichon  followed  her.  A 
subterranean  passage  led  them  to  a  staircase,  familiar  to 
Tichon.  They  ascended  and  entered  the  big  room,  where 
the  worshippers  changed  their  clothes.  The  moon  was 
looking  through  the  window  and  the  white  tunics  hung  on 
the  walls  resembled  phantoms  in  its  light. 

When  Tichon  breathed  the  fresh  air  and  saw  through 
the  window  the  blue  sparkling  snow  and  the  stars,  immense 
joy  filled  his  soul.  He  pressed  ecstatically  the  thin  hand 
of  Marioushka. 

He  noticed  that  she  was  no  longer  with  child  ;  and 
remembered  Mitka  saying  a  few  days  ago,  that  she  had 
been  delivered  of  a  boy.  The  child  was  pronounced  a  little 
Christ,  being  born  of  the  King  by  the  will  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  not  from  the  flesh,  nor  the  will  of  man,  but  by  the 
will  of  God  Himself. 

Marioushka  made  Tichon  sit  down  on  a  bench,  placed 
herself  next  to  him,  and  again  with  great  effort  tried  to 
speak.  But  instead  of  words,  all  she  could  articulate  was 
vague  lowings  of  which  he  could  make  nothing.  Finding 
that  she  could  not  make  herself  understood,  she  stopped 
and  began  to  cry.  He  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  press- 
ing her  head  against  his  bosom,  he  began  to  caress  her  soft 

I-  L 


530  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

light  hair,  Hghter  still  in  the  moonlight.  She  was  trem. 
bling,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  a  captive  bird  was  flutter- 
ing in  his  arms. 

At  last  she  raised  to  him  her  large,  limpid,  dark  blue 
eyes,  two  cornflowers  beaded  with  dew,  and  smiled  through 
her  tears,  started  as  if  trying  to  catch  a  sound,  straightened 
her  neck,  long,  thin,  like  the  stem  of  a  flower,  and  suddenly 
in  a  clear,  silvery  voice — the  voice  she  used  to  sing  with  in 
the  night  watches — she  warbled  into  his  ear.  The  stutter- 
ing had  disappeared,  the  words  half  sung,  half  whispered 
had  become  distinct. 

"  Ah,  Tichon,  my  friend,  save'me  from  the  fiends.  They 
will  kill  Ivanoushka " 

"  What  ivanoushka  ?  " 

"  My  son,  my  poor  little  boy  !  " 

"  Why  should  they  kill  him  ?  "  said  Tichon  in  bewilder- 
ment.    She  seemed  to  be  speaking  in  a  delirium. 

"  In  order  to  partake  of  the  living  blood,"  she  whispered, 
nestling  to  him  with  infinite  terror.  "  The  little  Christs  they 
say,  the  stainless  lambs,  are  born  in  order  to  bo  killed,  to 
give  themselves  for  holy  food  to  the  faithful.  The  child, 
they  say,  is  not  alive  ;  he  is  but  an  appearance,  a  holy  icon, 

an  imperishable  body,  which  can  neither  suffer  nor  die 

but  they  lie,  the  accursed  ones,  I  know  it,  I  know  it,  Tichon. 
My  son  is  alive.  He  is  not  a  Christ,  but  Ivanoushka,  my 
own  darling  !     I  will  not  deliver  him  to  anybody.     I  would 

rather  perish   than  give    him  up Oh,  Tichon,  save 

me  from  the  enemy  !  " 

Again  the  words  became  confused.  At  last  she  stopped, 
and  leaning  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  she  lost  conscious- 
ness or  else  fell  asleep. 

Day  began  to  break.  Steps  were  heard  behind  the  door. 
Marioushka  started,  as  though  ready  to  fly.  They  took 
leave  of  one  another,  Tichon  promising  to  save  Ivanoushka. 

"  Poor  little  fool,"  he  said,  trying  to  calm  himself. 
"  She  does  not  know  what  she  is  saying.  I  dare  say  it's 
pure  imagination  on  her  part." 

A  night  watch  had  been  fixed  for  the  Thursday  of 
Passover  week.  From  vague  allusions  Tichon  had  gathered 
that  some  great  mystery  was  to  be  enacted  that  night. 

"  Will  it  not  be  the  one  Marioushka  spoke  of  ?  "  he 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  531 

asked  himself  with  horror  !  He  sought  her  everywhere, 
but  she  had  disappeared,  maybe  she  had  been  purposely 
hid.  The  torpor  of  a  nightmare  held  him.  He  dared  not 
think  of  what  was  going  to  happen,  but  for  Marioushka's 
sake  he  would  at  once  have  fled. 

On  Thursday,  about  midnight,  as  usual  they  went  to 
the  night-service. 

On  entering  the  room,  Tichon  scanned  carefull}^  the  faces 
of  those  present,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  same  torpor 
of  some  awful  nightmare  held  everybody.  They  seemed 
to  act  against  their  own  will. 

The  Queen  was  absent. 

In  came  the  King.  His  face,  deadly  pale,  of  extraordi- 
nary beauty,  reminded  Tichon  of  the  image  of  the  god 
Bacchus  Dionysus,  as  he  had  seen  it  carved  on  stones  and 
cameos,  in  the  collection  of  antiquities  belonging  to  James 
Bruce. 

The  night-watch  service  began.  Never  yet  had  the 
dance  whirled  so  madly.  It  seemed  white  birds  were  fly- 
ing in  terror  towards  a  white  abyss. 

To  avoid  rousing  suspicion  Tichon  had  also  joined  the 
dance,  yet  he  forced  himself  not  to  surrender  up  to  its 
intoxication.  He  often  stopped  and  sat  down  on  a  bench, 
as  if  resting.  He  watched  everybody,  and  thought  about 
Ivanoushka. 

The  wildest  frenzy  was  now  beginning  to  possess  the 
dancers.  They  cried  with  voices  no  longer  their  own, 
"  He  is  descending  !  " 

In  spite  of  all  his  efforts  Tichon  felt  he  was  growing  weaker 
and  losing  control  over  himself.  He  convulsively  gripped 
the  bench  he  was  sitting  upon,  in  order  to  resist  the  impetu- 
ous desire  to  whirl  away  in  this  mad  dance,  growing  swifter 
and  swifter  at  every  moment.  He  suddenly  shrieked  and 
felt  himself  lifted  up  and  carried  away  by  this  hurricane. 

A  last  roar  of  voices  : — 

"  Eva,  Evoe  !  " 

Then  suddenly  all  stopped  and  prostrated  themselves 
on  the  ground  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  covering  their  faces 
with  their  hands.  The  white  tunics  on  the  floor  resembled 
white  wings. 

"  Here  cometh  the  stainless  lamb  to  offer  himself  as  food 


532  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

for  the  faithful !  "  These  words  were  said  by  the  Queen  in 
a  sepulchral,  mysterious  voice  from  the  subterranean 
apartment  below.  To  Tichon  it  seemed  to  be  the  voice 
of  the  Earth,  the  Bountiful  Mother  of  All. 

The  Queen  appeared.  She  held  in  her  hands  a  large 
silver  cup,  a  kind  of  small  baptismal  font,  in  which  on  white 
swaddling  clothes  there  lay  a  naked  infant.  He  was  sound 
asleep  ;  some  sleeping  draught  had  probably  been  admin- 
istered to  him.  Numerous  burning  tapers  had  been  fixed 
on  a  hoop  round  the  foot  of  the  cup  ;  the  flames,  coming 
up  to  the  rim,  surrounded  the  infant  with  a  luminous 
aureola.  He  seemed  to  be  lying  in  a  white  water  lily  with 
a  fiery  nimbus. 

The  Queen  brought  the  cup  to  the  King,  saying  : — 

"  What  is  thine  is  brought  to  thee  for  the  salvation  of 
all." 

The  King  blessed  the  child  with  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  the  Son  and  the  Holy 
Ghost  !  " 

Then  he  took  him  in  his  hand  and  raised  a  knife  over  him. 

Tichon  lay  prostrate  on  the  ground,  his  face  hid  in  his 
hands.  Yet  he  looked  through  his  fingers  and  saw  every- 
thing. It  seemed  to  him  the  body  of  the  infant  was  radiant 
as  the  sun,  that  it  was  not  Ivanoushka  but  the  mysterious 
Lamb,  slain  from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  and  the  face 
of  him  who  held  the  raised  knife  was  the  face  of  God. 
He  was  waiting  in  great  terror,  and  was  wishing  with  an 
intense  desire  for  the  knife  to  plunge  into  the  white  body 
and  the  living  blood  to  be  shed.  Then  everything  would 
be  accomplished  ;  in  the  final  terror  there  would  be  the 
final  ecstasy. 

Suddenly  the  child  began  to  cry.  The  King  smiled, 
and  the  smile  transformed  the  face  of  the  god  into  the  face 
of  the  beast. 

"  The    beast,    Satan,    Antichrist  ! "  flashed    across 

Tichon's  brain,  and  a  sudden  intolerable,  overwhelming 
anguish  gripped  his  heart.  At  the  same  moment  some 
one  seemed  to  rouse  him  and  the  spell  was  broken.  He 
jumped  to  his  feet,  rushed  upon  Averian  Bespaly,  caught 
hold  of  his  hand  and  averted  the  stab. 

All  jumped  up  and  threw  themselves  on  Tichon.    They 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  533 

would  have  torn  him  to  pieces,  had  not  heavy  knocks  at 
that  moment  sounded  at  the  door.  It  was  being  battered 
from  the  outside.  The  double  doors  gave  way  with  a  crash, 
and  fell  forwards.  In  rushed  Marioushka  and,  after  her, 
men  in  green  kaftans,  three-cornered  hats,  with  drawn 
swords  ;  they  were  soldiers.  To  Tichon  they  seemed  to  be 
angels  of  God. 

It  grew  dark  before  his  eyes. 

His  shoulder  felt  heavy.  He  put  up  his  hand  and  touched 
something  warm  and  sticky.  It  was  blood.  He  had  been 
probably  wounded  in  the  scuffle. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  saw  the  red  flames  of  a  burning 
house,  the  Red  Death.  White  birds  were  flying  into  the 
red  flames.  He  thought,  "  More  terrible  than  the  Red 
Death  is  the  White  Death,"  and  feU  senseless  to  the  ground. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  case  of  the  heretics  was  investigated  by  the  newly 
estabhshed  Holy  Synod. 
The  runaway  Cossack,  Averian  Bespaly,  and  his  sister, 
Akoulina,  were  condemned  to  suffer  death  on  the  wheel. 
The  rest,  after  being  flogged  and  having  their  nostrils 
torn,  were  condemned,  the  men  to  forced  labour,  and  the 
women  to  weaving-workshops  and  prison-cloisters. 

Tichon,  who  nearly  died  of  his  wound  in  the  prison 
hospital,  was  saved  by  his  former  protector,  James  Vilimo- 
vitch  Bruce.  Bruce  took  him  to  his  house  to  recover, 
and  interceded  with  the  Bishop  of  Novgorod,  Feofan 
Prokopovitch,  on  his  behalf.  Feofan  became  interested 
in  Tichon  ;  he  wanted  to  display  towards  him  that  pastoral 
mercy  for  erring  sheep  which  he  was  always  preaching  : 
"  Opponents  of  the  Church  ought  to  be  met  with  kindness 
and  reason,  and  not  as  they  are  nowadays  with  hard  words 
and  alienation."  At  the  same  time  he  hoped  that  Tichon's 
abjuration  of  the  heresy  and  his  return  to  the  fold  of  the 
Orthodox  Church  would  serve  as  an  example  to  other 
heretics  and  Raskolniks. 

Bishop  Feofan  exempted  Tichon  from  flogging  and  exile, 
and  took  him  to  Petersburg  to  do  penance  in  his  house. 

The  bishop's  residence  was  situated  on  the  Aptekarski 
Island  in  a  dense  pine-wood.  The  library  was  on  the  ground 
floor.  Noticing  Tichon's  love  for  books,  Feofan  gave  him 
permission  to  put  his  library  in  order.  It  was  summer  and 
the  days  were  hot.  The  windows,  which  looked  straight 
into  the  wood,  were  often  left  open.  The  peace  of  the 
wood  mingled  with  the  peace  of  the  library,  the  rustle  of 
leaves  with   the  rustle  of  pages.     The  woodpecker  and 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  535 

cuckoo  could  be  heard.  A  couple  of  elks  were  visible  in 
the  clearing  of  the  wood  ;  they  had  been  brought  here 
from  the  Petrovosky  Island,  which  was  wild  country  at 
that  time.  A  green  twilight  filled  the  room.  It  was  cool 
and  pleasant  within.  Tichon  spent  whole  days  rummaging 
among  the  books.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  returned  to  the 
library  of  James  Bruce,  and  his  four  years  of  wanderings 
were  but  a  dream. 

Bishop  Feofan  was  kind  to  him.  He  did  not  press  him 
to  return  to  the  Church.  There  being  no  Russian  catechism, 
he  chose  for  Tichon's  reading  some  German  theologians  ; 
when  he  was  free  he  would  talk  with  him  about  what  he 
had  read  and  correct  the  Protestant  teaching  according 
to  the  Greco-Russian  Church.  Otherwise  Tichon  had 
entire  freedom  to  do  what  he  liked. 

Tichon  gave  himself  up  to  mathematics.  In  the  calm, 
cold  atmosphere  of  reason  he  sought  repose  from  those 
fires  of  madness  ;  and  the  nightmares  of  the  Red  and 
the   White  Death. 

He  re-read  the  philosopher  Descartes,  Leibnitz  and 
Spinoza.  And  the  words  of  Pastor  Gliick,  would  often 
come  back  to  him :  "  True  philosophy,  when  read  super- 
ficially leads  away  from  God ;  when  studied  deeply,  leads 
to  Him." 

To  Descartes  God  was  the  prime  mover  of  the  first 
matter.  The  universe  was  a  machine.  There  was  neither 
love  nor  mystery  nor  life,  nothing  except  reason,  which 
is  reflected  in  all  worlds,  as  light  is  reflected  in  the 
transparent  crystals  of  the  ice.  Tichon  was  frightened  by 
this  lifeless  God. 

"  Nature  is  full  of  life,"  asserted  Leibnitz  in  his  Monado- 
logy,  "  I  will  prove  that  the  origin  of  every  movement  is 
the  spirit,  and  the  spirit  is  a  living  monad,  which  is  made  up 
of  ideas,  as  the  centre  is  made  up  of  angels."  All  monads 
are  united  into  a  whole  by  the  pre-established  harmony  of 
God.  "  The  universe  is  God's  clock,  horologium  Dei." 
"  Again  instead  Of  life,  a  machine ;  instead  of  God, 
mechanics,"  thought  Tichon,  and  once  more  dread  took 
hold  of  him. 

But  the  most  dreadful,  because  the  most  lucid,  was 
Spinoza.     He  expressed  what  the  others  dared  not  say. 


536  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  To  assert  that  God  took  on  Himself  the  nature  of  man, 
is  as  foohsh  as  to  assert  that  a  circle  had  assumed  the  nature 
of  a  triangle  or  a  square.  '  The  word  became  flesh ' 
is  an  Eastern  phrase,  which  has  no  meaning  whatever 
in  the  light  of  reason.  Christianity  is  distinguished  from 
other  religions  not  by  faith  nor  by  love,  nor  by  its  gifts  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  but  only  by  the  fact  that  it  is  founded  on 
a  miracle,  that  is  ignorance,  which  is  the  source  of  all  evil, 
and  in  this  way  the  faith  itself  is  transformed  into  super- 
stition." Spinoza  revealed  the  secret  thought  of  all 
modern  philosophers  :  either  with  Christ  against  reason  or 
with  reason  against  Christ. 

One  day  Tichon  spoke  of  Spinoza  to  Bishop  Feofan. 

"  This  philosophy  is  based  on  absurdities,"  declared  the 
bishop  with  a  disdainful  smile.  "  He  has  woven  his  reason- 
ing out  of  contradictions  and  hid  his  lack  of  intelligence 
in  pompous  and  sonorous  words." 

This  abuse  neither  convinced  nor  tranquillized  Tichon. 
The  works  of  the  foreign  theologians  also  helped  him  but 
little  ;  they  dismissed  all  ancient  and  modern  philosophers 
as  easily  as  the  Russian  bishop  had  done  Spinoza. 

Sometimes  Feofan  would  let  Tichon  copy  papers  con- 
cerning the  affairs  of  the  Holy  Synod.  He  was  struck  by 
the  wording  of  the  oath  in  the  Ecclesiastical  Regulations  : 
"  I  swear  to  recognize  as  supreme  judge  of  this  College  the 
Monarch  of  all  the  Russians,  our  most  gracious  Sovereign." 
The  Sovereign — the  head  of  the  Church,  the  Sovereign  in 
the  place  of  Christ  ! 

"  Magnus  ille  Leviathan,  quae  Civitas  appelatur,  officium 
artis  est  et  Homo  artificialis."  Tichon  remembered_  read- 
ing those  words  in  "  Leviathan,"  written  by  the  English 
philosopher  Hobbes,  who  asserted  that  the  Church  should 
be  part  of  the  Empire,  a  member  of  the  great  Leviathan, 
the  gigantic  automaton.  "  Is  it  not  the  image  of  the  beast 
created  in  the  image  of  the  god-beast,  which  is  spoken  of  in 
Revelation  ?"  Tichon  wondered. 

The  cold  reasonableness  of  this  lifeless  church  of  a  life- 
less God  chilled  Tichon  and  became  as  unbearable  to  him 
as  the  fire  of  passionate  madness,  the  fire  of  the  Red  and 
White  Death. 

The  day  had  been  fixed  when  Tichon  should  be  solemnly 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  537 

anointed  with  holy  baptismal  oils  in  the  Troitsa  Church, 
as  a  mark  of  his  return  to  the  Orthodox  Church. 

On  the  eve  of  that  day  Bishop  Feofan  had  visitors. 

In  his  Latin  letters,  Feofan  termed  such  assemblies 
"  noctes  atticae."  Pickles  and  fumados  were  served  and 
washed  down  with  the  famous  beer  brewed  by  Father 
Gerasem,  that  stout  economist.  They  discoursed  on 
philosophy  and  the  "laws  of  nature"  in  a  free  "liberal" 
tone,   that  is,  they  talked  atheism. 

Tichon  listened  to  the  conversation  from  the  glazed 
gallery  which  united  the  dining  room  with  the  library. 

"  Disputes  on  the  subject  of  faith  can  never  arise  between 
men  of  great  intelligence,"  Bruce  was  saying,  "  for  an 
intelligent  man  does  not  question  the  faith  of  another.  Be 
he  Lutheran,  Calvinist  or  Pagan,  it  is  not  the  faith  but  the 
actions   and   character   alone  which   count." 

"  Ubi  honi  vini  non  est  qiiaerenda  regio,  sic  nee  honi  viri 
religio  et  patria,"  replied  Feofan. 

"  Those  who  condemn  philosophy  are  either  ignorant  or 
else  over-cunning  priests,"  remarked  Basil  Nikitch  Tatesheff, 
President  of  the  Mine  Department. 

Father  Marcellus,  a  learned  monk,  demonstrated  that 
many  of  the  records  of  the  lives  of  saints  are  without 
foundation  in  fact. 

"  There  is  much  deception,  much  deception  "  ;  he  repeated 
the  celebrated   saying  of  Theodosius. 

"  Miracles  don't  happen  nowadays,"  agreed  Doctor 
Blumentrost. 

"  I  went  to  see  a  friend  recently,"  began  Tolstoi  with  a 
malicious  smile,  "  and  there  I  met  two  non-commissioned 
officers.  They  were  arguing  together.  One  affirmed,  the 
other  denied  the  existence  of  God.  The  free-thinker 
cried,  '  Don't  waste  your  breath,  there  is  no  God.'  I 
joined  in  the  conversation  and  asked,  '  Who  told  you  that 
God  did  not  exist  ?  '  '  Sub-lieutenant  Ivanoff  told  it  me 
so  yesterday,  at  the  Gostinni-Dvor.'  '  He  has  chosen  a 
nice  place  to  announce  it  in,  indeed,'  said  I." 

All  laughed. 

But  Tichon,  again,  grew  afraid.  He  saw  the  end  of 
all  this.  He  felt  certain  that  these  men  were  on  a  road 
which  it  was  impossible  not  to  follow  to  that  end  ;    and 


538  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

that  sooner  or  later,  they,  the  Russians,  would  reach  the 
stage  which  had  already  been  reached  in  Europe  ;  and  either 
stand  with  Christ  against  reason,  or  with  reason  against 
Christ. 

He  returned  to  the  library  and  sat  down  at  the  window 
next  to  the  wall,  lined  with  books  in  uniform  leather  parch- 
ment bindings.  He  gazed  at  the  sk}-,  white  over  the  black 
pines,  the  empty  lifeless  abyss  of  the  sky,  and  remembered 
the  words  of  Spinoza. 

"  There  is  as  much  in  common  between  God  and  man 
as  between  the  constellation  of  the  Dog  and  the  barking 
animal.     Man  can  love  God,  but  God  cannot  love  man." 

And  it  seemed  to  him  that  in  that  lifeless  sky  there 
dwelt  a  lifeless  God,  incapable  of  love.  It  were  better  to 
know  that  God  did  not  exist.  "  Perhaps  He  really  does 
not  exist,"  he  thought,  and  he  felt  the  same  terror  as  in 
the  moment  when  the  baby  Ivanoushka  cried  and  Averian, 
with  his  raised  knife,  had  smiled. 

Tichon  fell  on  his  knees  and  began  to  pray.  Looking 
up  to  heaven  he  repeated  one  word  again  and  again  : — 

"  Lord,  Lord,  Lord  !  " 

But  the  heavens  remained  silent.  Silence  was  in  Tichon's 
heart.     Infinite  silence,  infinite  terror. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  depths  of  this  silence  a  voice  re- 
plied and  told  him  what  had  to  be  done. 

Tichon  straightway  rose,  went  into  his  cell,  pulled  his 
sack  out  from  under  the  bed,  took  from  it  his  old  monk's 
habit,  the  leathern  belt,  the  rosary,  the  hood,  the  little  icon 
of  St.  Sophia,  the  Wisdom  of  God,  given  to  him  by  the  girl 
Sophia  ;  he  took  off  his  kaftan  and  the  rest  of  the  foreign 
dress  he  wore,  put  on  the  religious  habit,  fastened  round 
his  shoulders  the  wallet,  took  the  staff,  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross  and,  unnoticed  by  any  one,  passed  out  of  the 
house  into  the  wood. 

The  next  morning,  when  it  was  time  to  go  to  church  for 
the  rite  of  anointing,  Tichon  was  called.  For  a  long  time 
he  was  vainly  sought  ;  he  had  disappeared,  leaving  no 
trace  behind  him.     Had  he  vanished  into  space  ? 


CHAPTER    III 

TRADITION  says  that  the  Apostle  Andrew,  who  had 
come  from  Kiev  to  Novgorod,  crossed  in  a  boat  to 
the  island  Varlaam,  in  the  Lake  Ladoga,  and  planted  there 
a  stone  cross.  And  long  before  the  conversion  of  Russia  to 
Christianity,  two  monks,  St.  Sergius  and  St.  Herman,  came 
to  Russia  from  the  Orient  and  founded  a  monastery  on  the 
Isle  of  Varlaam. 

And  from  that  day  the  Christian  faith  gleamed  in  the 
North,  like  a  holy  lamp  in  the  arctic  midnight  gloom. 

The  Swedes,  on  taking  possession  of  Lake  Ladoga, 
several  times  destroyed  the  monastery.  In  1611  they 
razed  it  to  the  ground.  For  a  century  the  isle  remained 
abandoned.  In  1715  Tsar  Peter  ordered  the  reconstruction 
of  the  monastery.  A  small  wooden  church  was  built  over 
the  tombs  of  St.  Sergius  and  St.  Herman  in  honour  of  the 
Transfiguration  of  Our  Lord,  a  few  humble  cells  were 
erected  around  it,  to  which  monks  from  the  Kirilo  Beloserski 
Monastery  were  transferred.  The  light  of  the  Christian 
faith  was  lit  anew.  According  to  prophesy  it  would  remain 
there  until  the  Second  Coming. 

Tichon  escaped  from  Petersburg  in  the  company  of  a 
monk  belonging  to  the  sect  of  the  Runners. 

The  Runners  taught  that  true  believers,  in  order  to 
escape  Antichrist,  should  flee  from  town  to  town,  village 
to  village,  unto  the  ends  of  the  earth.  The  monk  invited 
Tichon  to  follow  him  to  an  unknown  kingdom,  Oponskoye. 
This  kingdom  consisted  of  seventy  islands  on  the  "  White 
Waters,"  where,  in  its  one  hundred  and  seventy-nine 
churches  of  the  Assyrian  tongue,  the  Old  Faith  was  sup- 
posed to  have  remained  intact.  It  lay  beyond  Gog  and 
Magog  at  the  ends  of  the  earth,  where  the  sun  rose.     "  With 

639 


540  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

God's  help  we  shall  reach  it  walking,  in  ten  years,"  said  the 
monk. 

Tichon  had  no  strict  belief  in  the  existence  of  this  Opon- 
skoye  kingdom,  but  he  went  with  the  Runner  ;  it  was  a 
matter  of  indifference  to  him  where  and  with  whom  he 
went. 

The  pair  reached  Ladoga  on  rafts  and  went  on  board 
a  small  lake-vessel  bound  for  Serdobal.  On  the  way  a 
storm  overtook  them.  For  a  long  time  the  vessel  was 
tossed  about  by  the  waves  and  narrowly  escaped  being 
wrecked.  At  last  they  succeeded  in  entering  the  harbour 
of  the  Varlaam  Monastery.  The  storm  subsided  towards 
morning,  but  the  boat  needed  repairs. 

Tichon  went  ashore. 

The  island  was  of  granite,  with  high  cliffs  overhanging 
the  water.  The  soil  was  so  shallow  that  only  small  trees 
could  grow  there.  On  the  other  hand  there  was  moss  in 
abundance  ;  it  spread  over  the  roots  of  the  pines  like 
cobwebs  and  hung  down  from  the  trunks  in  long  green 
tufts. 

The  day  was  hot  and  misty.  The  sky,  milky  white,  with  the 
blue  just  peeping  through  it,  merged  with  the  glassy  surface 
of  the  lake,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  where  the  water 
ended  and  sky  began.  The  heavens  appeared  to  be  the 
lake,  the  lake  the  heavens.  The  quietness  was  absolute, 
even  the  birds  were  silent.  Tichon's  soul  was  filled  with 
infinite  calm  and  peace  by  this  gentle  austere  arctic  para- 
dise. He  remembered  the  song  he  used  to  sing  in  the 
woods  of  the  Banks  of  Mosses. 


Wonderful  Mother  Solitude. 


A  monk  of  Varlaam  had  once  told  him  :  "  Our  island  is  a 
paradise.  You  might  wander  for  three  days  in  the  woods 
without  meeting  any  one,  either  wild  beasts  or  outcasts  ! 
You  are  alone  with  God  ! " 

Tichon  wandered  for  a  long  time,  further  and  further 
from  the  Monastery,  till  at  last  he  lost  his  way.  Evening 
came.     He  was  afraid  the  boat  would  go  without  him. 

To  discover  his  whereabouts  he  climbed  a  hill.  The 
slope  was  overgrown  with  pines.     On  the  summit  there  was 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  541 

a  round  clearing,  purple  with  heather.  A  black  rock 
stood  in  the  middle,  shaped  like  a  pillar. 

Tichon  was  fatigued.  He  found  at  the  end  of  the  clear- 
ing between  the  pines  a  cavity  in  the  rock  covered  with 
soft  moss.  He  laid  down  in  it,  as  in  a  cradle,  and  fell 
asleep. 

When  he  awoke  again  it  was  night.  It  was  almost  as 
light  as  in  daytime,  only  more  peaceful  still.  The  shores 
of  the  island  were  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  the  lake  to 
the  last  cross  of  the  pine-tree  tips,  so  that  it  seemed  a  lower 
island,  only  reversed  and  joined  to  the  upper  and  suspended 
between  two  skies.  On  the  rock  in  the  middle  of  the 
glade  an  old  man  was  kneeling,  perhaps  some  hermit  who 
lived  ir\.  the  forest.  His  black  profile  against  the  golden 
dawn  remaned  motionless,  as  if  carved  from  the  stone  on 
which  he  knelt.  His  face  expressed  such  pious  esctasy 
as  Tichon  had  never  yet  seen  in  a  human  countenance. 
The  silence  around  seemed  as  if  due  to  this  prayer,  while  the 
sweetness  of  the  heather  rose  like  the  smoke  of  incense. 

Daring  neither  to  breathe  nor  to  move  he  gazed  for  a 
long  time  at  the  old  man,  prayed  with  him  and  in  the 
infinite  sweetness  of  that  prayer  again  became  drowsy  and 
fell  asleep  again. 

He  awoke  with  the  rising  sun.  . 

There  was  no  one  on  the  rock.  Tichon  approached  it 
and  noticed  in  the  thick  heather  a  narrow  path.  He 
followed  it.  It  led  into  a  valley  surrounded  by  rocks. 
Further  down  was  a  birch  grove,  in  the  middle  of  it  a  glade 
overgrown  with  tall  grass.  He  heard  the  ripple  of  a  hidden 
stream. 

A  hermit  stood  in  the  glade.  It  was  he  whom  Tichon 
had  seen  in  the  night.  He  was  feeding  an  elk  doe  and 
her  young  one. 

Tichon  could  scarcely  believe  his  eyes.  He  knew  how 
timid  the  elks  were,  especially  the  female  with  their  young. 
Had  he  suddenly  surprised  and  lit  upon  some  eternal  mystery 
of  those  ancient- days  when  man  and  beast  dwelt  together 
in  Paradise  ? 

Having  eaten  the  bread  the  elk  began  to  lick  the  old 
man's  hand.  He  blessed  her  with  sign  of  the  cross,  kissed 
her  shaggy  head  and  said  : — 


542  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

"  May  the  Lord  protect  thee,  mother  !  " 

All  at  once  she  looked  round  backwards  in  alarm,  jumped 
to  one  side  and  rushed  with  her  young  one  into  the  wood. 
Nothing  could  be  heard  hut  the  crackling  of  branches. 
She  had  probably  scented  Tichon. 

He   approached   the  old   man. 

"  Give  me  your  blessing,  Father  !  " 

The  hermit  blessed  him  gently  as  he  had  blessed  the  elk. 
"  The  Lord  protect  you,  child  !     What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Tichon." 

"  Tichon  !  Tichon  is  a  word  of  peace.  Whence  come 
you  ?  This  place  is  but  a  desert  and  little  known.  It's 
seldom  we  see  pilgrims." 

"  We  were  going  to  Serdobal  from  Ladoga,"  answered 
Tichon,  "  when  our  vessel  was  driven  by  the  storm  to  this 
island.     I  went  into  the  wood  yesterday  and  lost  my  way." 

"  Did  you  spend  the  night  in  the  wood  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  the  wood." 

"  Have  you  had  any  food  ?     You  must  be  hungry  ?  " 

The  piece  of  bread  Tichon  had  had  with  him  he  had 
eaten  the  night  before.     He  was  hungry  now. 

"  Come  to  the  cell,  Tichon,  I  will  share  with  you  what 
God  has  sent  me." 

Father  Sergius  (this  was  the  hermit's  name)  to  judge  by 
the  greyness  of  his  black  hair  was  probably  about  fifty. 
Yet  his  walk  and  all  his  movements  were  as  brisk  and 
nimble  as  those  of  a  young  man.  His  face,  dry  and  austere, 
was  nevertheless  young.  His  brown,  short-sighted  eyes 
were  always  screwed  up,  as  though  smiling  with  an  irre- 
pressible smile,  almost  frolicsome,  slightly  cunning  :  it  looked 
as  if  he  knew  of  something  amusing  which  others  did  not 
know,  ai?d  was  just  going  to  tell  it  and  make  every  one 
laugh.  But  at  the  same  time  in  the  gaiety  there'^was  that 
air  of  assured  peace  Tichon  had  noticed  during  the  prayer. 

They  came  to  an  abrupt  rocky  cliff.  Beds  planted  with 
vegetables  were  visible  through  a  dilapidated  wattle  fence. 
On  three  sides  the  walls  of  the  cliff  here  formed  a  natural 
habitation.  The  fourth,  or  front,  was  of  wood.  Logs 
had  been  placed  across  the  entrance  and  provided  with  a 
window  and  door.  Over  the  latter  an  icon  of  the  holy 
patrons  of  Varlaam,  St.  Sergius  and  St.  Herman.     The 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  543 

roof  between  the  cliff  walls  was  of  turf,  covered  with  bark 
and  overgrown  with  moss,  surmounted  by  an  octagonal 
cross.  The  valley  ended  in  a  sandbank  which  had  been 
deposited  on  the  shore  of  the  lake  by  the  stream  flowing 
into  it  at  this  place.  Nets  stretched  on  sticks  were  drying 
in  the  sun.  Another  old  monk,  clothed  in  a  patched 
cassock  made  of  coarse  stuff,  his  naked  legs  up  to  the 
knees  in  water,  was  mending  and  tarring  an  overturned 
boat.  He  was  a  robust,  square-shouldered  man  with  a 
weather-beaten  face  and  white  scanty  hair.  "  A  real 
Apostle  Peter,"  thought  Tichon.  The  air  was  filled  with 
a  smell  of  pine  chips,  fish  and  tar. 

"  Hilarionoushka,"  Father  Sergius  called  out,  The  old 
man  turned  round,  left  off  his  work,  approached  them  and 
silently  prostrated  himself  before  Tichon. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  child,"  said  Father  Sergius  with  a 
smile,  noticing  Tichon's  confusion.  "  He  salutes  every- 
body in  this  manner,  even  little  children.  He  is  so  humble  !  " 
Continuing  "  Will  you  prepare  our  supper,  Hilarionoushka  ? 
We  must  give  this  pilgrim  of  God  some  food." 

Father  Hilarion  rose  and  closely  examined  Tichon. 
His  "  humble  "  gaze  did  not  lack  severity.  His  look  ex- 
pressed that  saying  of  St.  Arsenius,  the  hermit  of  Thebaid, 
"  Love  all  men,  and  flee  from  the  face  of  any 
man." 

The  cell  was  divided  into  two.  The  front  portion,  quite 
small,  resembled  the  interior  of  a  peasant's  hut ;  the  other 
at  the  back  had  its  walls  covered  with  icons,  which  were 
cheerful,  like  Father  Sergius  himself.  There  was  an  icon 
of  the  Holy  Virgin  of  the  Merciful,  one  of  the  Odoriferous 
Flower,  one  of  the  Blessed  Womb,  one  of  the  Bestower  of 
Life,  one  of  the  Unhoped-for  Joy.  Before  this  last  one, 
specially  beloved  by  Father  Sergius,  a  lamp  was  burning. 
In  this  part  of  the  cave,  dark  and  narrow  as  the  grave,  lay 
two  coffins  with  stone  pillows  therein.  In  these  the  old 
men  used  to  sleep. 

They  sat  down  to  the  meal.  A  board  laid  on  a  moss- 
covered  pine  trunk  served  as  a  table.  Father  Hilarion 
brought  bread  and  salt,  wooden  bowls  with  sour  cabbage, 
salted  cucumbers,  mushroom  soup,  and  a  dish  prepared 
of  sweet-smelling  herbs. 


544  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

Father  Sergius  and  Tichon  ate  in  silence  while  Father 
Hilarion  recited  a  Psalm  : — 

"  The  eyes  of  all  wait  upon  thee,  O  Lord,  and  thou 
givest  them  their  meat  in  due  season." 

After  the  meal  Father  Hilarion  returned  to  his  boat. 
Father  Sergius  and  Tichon  sat  down  on  the  stone  steps 
which  led  to  the  cell.  Before  them  lay  the  lake — another 
sky, — pale  blue,  smooth  and  tranquil,  reflecting  large  round 
white  clouds. 

"  Have  you  made  a  vow  of  pilgrimage,  my  child  ?  " 
enquired   Father   Sergius. 

Tichon  looked  at  him  and  longed  to  tell  him  the  whole 
truth. 

"  I  have  made  a  great  vow,  Father.  I  am  seeking 
through  this  world  for  the  true  Church." 

And  he  recounted  his  whole  life,  beginning  with  his 
flight  from  Antichrist  and  ending  with  a  last  abjuration  of 
the  lifeless  Orthodox  Church  of  the  day. 

When  he  had  ended  Father  Sergius  remained  for  a  long 
time  silent,  shading  his  face  with  both  hands.  Then  he 
rose  and  laid  his  hand  on  Tichon's  head  and  said  : — 

"  Thus  spoke  the  Lord  Himself  :  '  and  him  that  cometh 
to  Me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out.'  Go  then  to  the  Lord 
Himself,  my  son,  in  peace.  Fear  nothing,  you  will  then  be  in 
the  Church  again,  in  the  true  Church  !  in  the  true  Church  !  " 

Such  power  breathed  through  these  words  that  he  seemed 
to  be  prophesying. 

"  I  implore  you.  Father,"  exclaimed  Tichon,  falling  at 
his  feet,  "  let  me  be  your  disciple  !  Let  me  remain  here 
with  you  in  the  forest." 

"  Remain  here,  my  child,  and  the  Lord  bless  you." 
Father  Sergius  embraced  and  kissed  him.  "  You  will  not 
disturb  our  peace,"  he  added  with  his  habitual  cheerful 
smile. 

So  Tichon  remained  in  the  desert  with  the  two  old  men. 

Father  Hilarion  fasted  very  strictly.  Sometimes  for 
weeks  he  would  not  taste  bread.  He  kept  himself  alive 
with  pine  bark,  which  he  dried,  crushed  in  a  mortar  and 
baked  with  a  little  flour.  He  drank  from  land-locked 
pools  water  which  was  tepid  and  tasted  ot  rust.  In  the 
winter  he  prayed  standing  up  to  his  knees  in  snow.     In  the 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  545 

summer  he  would  remain  naked  in  the  marshes  offering 
his  body  for  food  to  the  midges.  He  never  washed,  follow- 
ing the  precept  of  the  Holy  Isaac  Sirine  :  On  no  account 
uncover  your  members.  If  you  feel  a  desire  to  scratch 
cover  your  hand  with  your  shirt  or  trousers,  and  then  only 
scratch.  Never  touch  your  bare  body  or  privy  members 
with  your  hand.     If  your  body  suffers,  let  it  do  so." 

Father  Hilarion  sometimes  spoke  to  Tichon  about  his 
teacher  Trifon,  a  monk  at  the  Kirillo  Beloserski  Monastery. 
This  Trifon  had  been  surnamed  the  Sordid,  because  of  his 
saintly  sordidness,  through  which,  it  was  said,  he  had  the 
special  gift  of  prophecy.  Water  had  never  wetted  his 
feet  nor  his  head  ;  and  yet  he  had  no  vermin  on  him, 
which  caused  him  distress,  "  For,"  said  he,  "  in  the  future 
life  I  shall  be  overrun  by  fleas  big  as  mice."  He  repeated 
day  and  night  the  Lord's  prayer  ;  his  lips  were  so  used  to 
saying  it  that  they  moved  now  perpetually,  by  instinct. 
On  his  forehead,  by  dint  of  resting  his  fingers  thereon 
in  endlessly  making  signs  of  the  cross,  there  was  a 
sore.  When  officiating  he  often  wept  so  abundantly  that 
he  used  to  swoon.  During  the  eight  days  which  preceded 
his  death  he  suffered  a  great  deal,  but  never  complained, 
never  moaned  nor  begged  for  a  drink.  When  he  was 
asked,  "  Father,  have  you  much  pain  ?  "  he  answered, 
"All  is  well  !  "  One  day  Father  Hilarion  had  gently  crept 
up  to  him  and  heard  him  murmur  :  "  Oh  for  a  good  mouth- 
ful of  water  !  "  "  Are  you  thirsty  ?  "  asked  Hilarion. 
But  Trifon  answered  aloud  "  No.  I  do  not  want  to  drink." 
And  by  this  Hilarion  understood  that  Father  Trifon  was 
tormented  by  a  great  thirst,  but  that  he  had  imposed  this 
upon  himself  as  a  supreme  privation. 

"  Notwithstanding  all  these  fasts  and  works  and 
prayers,"  said  Father  Hilarion,  "it  is  almost  impossible 
for  a  man  to  be  saved.  According  to  a  certain  saint, 
out  of  thirty  thousand  souls  which  left  the  body  only 
two  got  into  Heaven  ;  the  rest  went  to  Hell.  The 
devil  is  very  powerful,"  Father  Hilarion  would  some- 
times sigh  in  great  affliction  :  he  seemed  doubtful  as 
to  which  was  the  stronger,  which  would  conquer,  God  or 
the  Devil. 

At  times  it  seemed  to  Tichon  that  should  Father  Hilarion 


546  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

press  his  thought  he  would  arrive  at  the  same  conclusion 
as  the  teachers  of  the  Red  Death. 

Father  Sergius  differed  exceedingly  from  Father  Hilarion. 
"An  extravagant  and  unreasonable  abstinence,"  said  he, 
"  does  more  harm  than  eating  sufficient  food.  Every  one 
ought  to  decide  for  himself  the  amount  of  food  he  should 
eat.  It  is  right  to  taste  all  foods,  even  those  which  are 
pleasant,  for  to  the  pure  all  things  are  pure.  Every  creature 
and  gift  of  God  is  good  and  none  should  be  despised." 

Salvation,  he  said,  depended  not  on  the  accomplishment 
of  extraordinary  actions,  but  on  the  inward  life.  Every 
night  he  prayed,  standing  motionless  on  the  rock,  and 
Tichon  felt  that  in  that  motionlessness  there  was  yet  a 
more  powerful  impulse  than  in  all  the  furious  dance  of  the 
"  Khlisti." 

"  How  should  one  pray  ?  "  Tichon  one  day  asked  Father 
Sergius. 

"  In  thought,"  the  latter  answered,  "descend  into  your 
own  heart  and  say  '  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  Son  of  God,  have 
mercy  upon  me  !  '  You  can  pray  while  standing,  sitting 
or  lying  down.  Confine  your  reason  in  your  own  heart  ; 
and  keep  back,  as  much  as  possible,  your  breathing.  At 
first  you  will  discover  within  yourself  deep  darkness  and 
great  hardness  ;  you  will  feel  an  obstacle,  a  kind  of  triple 
rampart  of  brass  between  God  and  yourself ;  but  do  not 
get  discouraged.  Pray  all  the  more  perseveringly  At 
last  the  brazen  barrier  will  fall,  and  an  ineffable  light  will 
fall,  too,  upon  your  heart.  Words  will  cease,  and  your 
prayer  will  change  into  sighs,  genuflections,  yearnings  of 
the  heart  and  gentle  sorrowings.  This  is  the  perfect  peace. 
This  is  the  great  ecstasy.  Man  no  longer  knows  whether 
he  is  within  his  body  or  without  it.  This  is  the  awe  and 
the  vision  of  God.  Therein  Man  and  God  are  fused,  and 
become  one  ;  and  the  prophet's  words,  '  God  unites  himself 
to  a  god,  and  will  be  known  by  a  god,'  is  accomplished. 
That  is  what  mental  prayer  is,  my  child." 

Tichon  noticed  that  in  speaking  to  him  Father  Sergius 
had  the  same  exalted,  almost  intoxicated,  look  the  Khlisti 
had,  only  their  drunkenness  was  momentary  and  frantic  ; 
his,  lasting  and  peaceable. 

Father  Hilarion  and  Father  Sergius  were  so  different  in 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  547 

character  that  it  might  have  been  imagined  they  could 
never  get  on  together.     Yet  they  hved  in  perfect  harmony. 

"  Father  Sergius  is  a  chosen  vessel,"  Hilarion  used  to 
say  ;  "  God  has  chosen  him  for  honour  and  me  for  dishonour. 
He  is  made  of  white  ivory  and  I  of  black.  To  him  every- 
thing will  be  forgiven.  From  me  everything  will  be 
demanded.  He  soars  like  an  angel,  while  I  creep  like  an 
ant.  His  salvation  is  certain,  while  mine  is  scarcely 
probable.  But  when  I  feel  myself  perishing  I  will  seize 
the  hem  of  the  skirt  of  Father  Sergius,  and  he  will  lift 
me  up  with  him,  perhaps." 

"  Father  Hilarion  is  a  solid  rock,  a  pillar  of  orthodoxy, 
an  impregnable  wall,"  Father  Sergius  used  to  say.  "  I  am 
but  a  leaf  driven  by  the  wind.  But  for  him  I  should  have 
fallen  long  since,  and  wandered  away  from  all  the  ancient 
traditions.  He  is  my  bulwark.  I  am  as  safe  with  him 
as  in  the  bosom  of  Christ." 

Father  Sergius  did  not  repeat  to  Father  Hilarion  his 
conversation  with  Tichon,  but  Hilarion  guessed  everything. 
He  scented  a  heretic,  as  the  wolf  scents  the  lamb.  One 
day  Tichon  by  chance  overheard  a  conversation  between 
the  two  hermits. 

"  Be  patient,  Hilarionoushka,"  besought  Sergius.  "  Be 
patient  with  him  for  Christ's  sake !  Live  in  peace  and 
charity  with  him." 

"  In  peace  with  a  heretic  !  "  retorted  Hilarion,"  a  heretic 
must  be  fought  with  unto  death.  His  pernicioi  s  spirit 
must  be  avoided.  Love  your  own  enemies,  not  God's.  Shun 
a  heretic,  never  talk  to  him  about  the  true  faith,  only  spit 
on  him.  Truly  he  is  worse  than  dogs  or  swine.  Let  him 
be  accursed,  anathema  !  " 

"  Be  patient,  Hilarionoushka,"  repeated  Father  Sergius, 
but  his  voice  half  wavered. 

Tichon  went  away  apart.  He  suddenly  realized  that  it 
was  vain  for  him  to  expect  help  from  Father  Sergius  : 
this  great  saint,  strong  as  an  angel  before  the  Lord,  was  as 
weak  as  a  child  before  men. 

A  few  days  later  Tichon  was  again  sitting  with  Father 
Sergius  on  the  stone  steps  which  led  to  the  cell.  They  were 
alone.     Father  Hilarion  had  gone  ofi  fishing. 

It  was  a  hot  white  night,  darkened  by  clouds.     A  storm 


548  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

had  been  beating  up  for  some  days.  On  the  earth  there 
was  absolute  quiet,  while  on  the  sky  heavy  silent  clouds 
were  sweeping  across,  like  dumb  giants  hurrying  to  a 
battle.  From  time  to  time  a  gentle,  distant  subterannean 
rumbling  as  of  thunder  was  heard,  like  the  grunting  of  a  great 
sleeping  animal.  Pale  violet  lightning  flashed  in  the  sky, 
as  though  the  night  was  trembling  with  apprehension. 
And  at  each  repeated  flash  the  lake  reflected  clearly  in 
every  detail  the  island,  even  to  the  last  cross  on  the  pine- 
tree  tops  ;  all  the  double  island  suspended  between  two 
skies.  And  after  each  flash  all  relapsed  into  peace  and 
gloom,  only  disturbed  by  the  low  muttering  of  the  thunder. 
Tichon  remained  silent,  while  Father  Sergius  gazing  at 
the  darkness  sang  a  litan}^  to  Jesus.  And  the  gentle  words 
of  the  prayer  mingled  with  the  gentle  rumbling  of  the 
thunder. 

Jesus,  invisible  force, 

Jesus,  infinite  mercy, 

Jesus,  luminous  beauty, 

Jesus,  unspeakable  love, 

Jesus,  Son  of  the  living  God, 

Jesus,  have  mercy  on  me,  a  sinner ! 

Tichon  felt  that  Father  Sergius  wanted  to  say  something 
to' him,  but  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  do  it.  Darkness 
had  hidden  the  monk's  face  from  him,  but  the  swift  flashes 
occasional!}'  revealed  on  it  an  unwonted  sadness. 

"  Father  !  "  said  Tichon,  at  last  breaking  the  silence, 
"  I   shall   soon   leave  you." 

"  Where  are  you  going,  my  son  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  Father,  and  it  does  not  really  matter. 
I  will  go  straight  before  me " 

Father  Sergius  took  him  by  the  hand  and  Tichon  heard 
a  trembling  tender  whisper  : — 

"  Return,  return,  my  son  !  " 

"  Where  to  ?  "  asked  Tichon,  and  he  felt  afraid,  not 
knowing  why. 

"  To  the  Church,  to  the  Church  of  God,"  whispered 
Father  Sergius,  more  and  more  tenderly  and  in  a  more  and 
more  trembling  voice. 

"  Into  what  Church,  Father  ?  " 

"  Oh     temptation,      temptation  ! "    sighed     Father 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  '549 

Sergius,  then  continued  with  an  effort,  "  into  the  one  holy 
apostoHc  Church — "  but  his  words  sounded  sad  and 
forced  ;   as  if  he  had  not  spoken  them  of  his  own  free  will. 

"  And  where  is  this  Church  to  be  found  ?  "  groaned 
Tichon  in  great  anguish. 

"  Ah,  my  poor,  poor  son,  how  is  it  possible  to  live  without 
a  church  ?  "  Father  Sergius  murmured,  and  his  voice 
expressed  sympathy  and  great  anguish.  Tichon  felt  that 
the  hermit  had  understood  him. 

In  the  flashes  of  the  lightning  he  saw  the  face  of  the  old 
man  with  its  trembling  lips  and  helpless  smile,  its  wide 
open  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  Tichon  understood  what  it 
was  that  filled  him  with  such  fear  :  the  fact  that  this  face 
could  be  so  pitiable. 

Tichon  knelt  and  stretched  his  hands  out  to  Father 
Sergius  with  a  forlorn  hope. 

"  Save  me,  help  me,  protect  me  ! Don't   you   see 

for  yourself  the  Church  is  actually  perishing,  the  faith  is 
perishing,  the  whole  of  Christianity  is  perishing  ?  Already 
the  mystery  of  lawlessness  is  being  enacted,  the  abomina- 
tion  of   desolation   is   in   the   holy   places.     Antichrist   is 

being  born  ! Arise,  Father,  for  a  great  work  !     Return 

to  the  world,  yourself  to  fight  against  Antichrist  !  " 

"  What  are  you  saying,  child  ?  How  can  I,  sinner  that 
I  am  ?  "  muttered  Father  Sergius,  with  terrified  humility. 

Tichon  understood  that  all  supplications  would  be  vain, 
that  Father  Sergius  had  for  ever  cut  himself  oft'  from  the 
world,  and  was  dead  to  it.  Tichon  remembered  the  terrible 
words,  "  Love  all  men  and  flee  from  the  face  of  any  of 
them."  "  And  what  if  it  be  truly  so,"  he  thought,  in  great 
despair,  "  what  if  one  ofthe  two  had  to  be  chosen  ?  Either 
God  without  the  world,  or  the  world  without  GodT^' 

He  fell  with  his  face  to  the  ground  and  remained  there 
for  a  long  time  motionless,  unconscious  of  the  hermit's 
caressing  and  comforting  hand. 

When  he  came  to  himself  he  was  alone.  Father  Sergius 
had  probably  gone  into  the  mountain  to  pray. 

Tichon  rose,  entered  the  cell,  slipped  on  his  travelling 
habit,  put  round  his  shoulders  his  wallet,  on  his  neck  the 
icon  of  St.  Sophia,  the  Wisdom  of  God,  took  up  his  staff, 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  went  into  the  wood  to  con- 


550  "  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

tinue  his  endless  wanderings.  He  wanted  to  go  away 
without  taking  leave  of  the  hermit,  for  he  knew  farewells 
would  be  too  painful  for  them  both. 

Yet  in  order  to  have  a  last  look  at  Father  Sergius,  if 
only  from  the  distance,  he  went  into  the  mountain. 

There  in  the  middle  of  the  glade  stood  as  usual  the  old 
man  praying  on  his  rock. 

Tichon  sought  the  cavity  in  the  rock,  the  cradle  lined 
with  soft  moss  where  he  had  spent  the  first  night,  lay  down 
in  it  and  for  a  long  time  continued  to  look  at  the  motionless 
outline  of  the  praying  monk,  the  blinding,  dazzling  white 
flashes  of  lightning  and  the  silent  clouds  which  swept 
across  the  sky. 

At  last  he  fell  into  that  slumber  into  which  the  disciples 
of  our  Lord  had  fallen  when  the  Master  was  praying  in 
Gethsemane  and  coming  towards  them  found  them  asleep, 
being  heavy  with  sorrow.  When  he  awoke  the  sun  had 
already  risen  and  Father  Sergius  had  left  the  stone.  Tichon 
approached  it  and  kissed  the  place  where  the  old  man  had 
stood.  Then  he  left  the  mountain  and  took  his  way  along 
narrow  paths  through  the  woods  towards  the  Varlaam 
Monastery. 

After  the  heavy  sleep  he  felt  weak  and  broken,  as  after 
a  swoon.  He  seemed  to  be  sleeping  still,  wanting  and  yet 
unable  to  awake.  He  was  filled  with  that  deep  anguish 
which  used  to  forbode  his  fits.  He  felt  dizzy.  His  thought 
grew  confused.  Snatches  of  distant  memories  flashed 
across  his  mind.  Now  it  was  Pastor  Gliick  repeating 
Newton's  words  about  the  end  of  the  world  :  "  a  comet 
will  fall  into  the  sun  and  this  will  cause  a  heat  so  intense 
that  the  whole  world  will  be  consumed  by  fire.  Hypotheses 
non  fingo  !  "  Now  it  was  the  melancholy  song  of  the  "  Coffin- 
liers  " — 

Ye  hollowed  oak-trunks,  ye  will  prove 
Fit  house  for  us 

Now  it  was  the  last  cry  of  the  victims  in  the  blazing 
chapel,  "  The  bridegroom  cometh  at  midnight."  Now 
the  mad  whirl  of  the  dancers  and  the  piercing  shriek  : — 

"  Eva,  Evoe  !  Eva,  Evoe  !  " 

Now  it  was  the  gentle  cry  of  Ivanouskha,  the  stainless 
lamb,  crying    under    the    knife    of    Averian — ^The    quiet 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  551 

words  of  Spinoza  about  the  intellectual  love  of  God,  Amor 
Dei  intellcctualis,  "  Man  can  love  God  but  God  cannot  love 
man — The  oath  in  the  ecclesiastical  regulations  which 
ordained  obedience  to  the  Autocrat  of  Russia  as  to  Christ 
Himself — The  austere  humility  of  Father  Hilarion : 
"  Love  all  men  and  flee  from  any  man," — The  affectionate 
whisper  of  Father  Sergius,  "  Return  to  the  Church,  the 
true  Church,  my  child." 

He  recovered  for  a  moment,  looking  round  him  and  saw 
that  he  had  lost  his  way. 

For  a  long  time  he  searched  for  the  path  among  the 
heather.  At  last  he  gave  it  up  and  went  on  at  random. 
The  storm  had  passed  over.  The  clouds  had  dispersed  ; 
the  sun  was  very  hot.  Tichon  was  thirsty,  yet  not  a  drop 
of  water  could  he  find  in  this  stony  desert.  Nothing  but 
grey  mosses,  lichen,  stunted  pines  overgrown  with  moss  as 
with  the  cobweb  ;  their  thin  trunks,  often  broken,  stretched 
out  like  the  thin  arms  and  legs  of  sick  people,  covered  v/ith 
a  reddish  inflamed  and  peeling  skin.  Between  them  the 
air  trembled  with  heat  and  over  all  was  spread  an  implacable 
sky  like  copper  heated  to  white  heat.  The  stillness  was 
intense.  Inexpressible  was  the  terror  of  this  dazzling, 
sparkling,  mid-day  stillness. 

Tichon  again  looked  round  and  recognized  the  place  he 
had  often  frequented  and  had  only  passed  this  morning. 
At  the  very  end  of  the  long  glade  of  the  forest,  a  road  made 
probably  once  by  the  Swedes,  but  long  since  abandoned 
and  overgrown  by  heather,  glittered  the  lake.  This  was 
a  spot  not  far  from  the  cell  of  Father  Sergius.  He  had 
probably  on  his  wanderings  made  a  circle  and  returned  to 
the  place  whence  he  had  started.  He  was  tired  as  if  he 
had  walked  a  thousand  miles,  as  if  he  had  been  ever  walking. 
He  asked  himself  whither  he  was  going,  and  why  ?  To  the 
unknown  kingdom  of  Oponskoye  or  the  invisible  legendary 
city  of  Kitesh,  places  in  whose  existence  he  no  longer 
believed. 

He  sank  in  exhaustion  on  the  roots  of  a  dry  old  pine, 
which  rose  solitary  above  the  undergrowth.  It  was  all 
the  same,  there  was  nowhere  else  he  could  go.  Could  he 
but  lie  thus  with  closed  eyes,  motionless,  on,  on  until  his 
death  ! 


552  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

He  remembered  what  he  had  been  told  by  a  teacher  of  a 
new  rehgion.  Those  teachers  were  called  "  Deniers," 
because  they  answered  every  affirmation  of  the  Church 
with  a  negative.  "  There  is  no  church,  no  clergy,  no  grace, 
no  mystery.  Everything  has  been  taken  up  into  heaven." 
"  There  is  nothing,  there  was  nothing,  there  will  be  no- 
thing," thought  Tichon.  "  Neither  God  nor  the  universe 
exist.  Everything  had  perished,  everything  had  come  to 
an  end.  And  even  whether  there  is  an  end  is  doubtful. 
Nothing  is  sure  but  the  eternity  of  nothingness." 

He  remained  for  a  long  time  unconscious.  Suddenly  he 
recovered,  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  on  the  west  a  huge  black 
cloud  spotted,  as  it  were,  with  purulent  white  spots.  Slowly 
like  a  gigantic  scorpion,  with  fat  protruding  belly  and 
hairy  legs,  it  was  creeping  up  almost  stealthily  towards  the 
sun.  It  stretched  out  a  leg,  and  the  sun  trembled  and  went 
out.  Rapid  grey  shadows  flitted  across  the  ground  and 
the  air  became  dim  and  sticky,  as  with  cobwebs.  Warm 
currents  of  air  passed  as  though  exhaled  from  the  mouth 
of  an  animal.  Tichon  was  suffocating.  His  head  throbbed, 
it  grew  dim  before  his  eyes.  Cold  sweat,  produced  by  ex- 
cessive fatigue,  bathed  his  body.  He  wanted  to  rise  and 
creep  to  the  cell  of  Father  Sergius,  and  die  in  his  presence, 
but  strength  failed  him.  He  tried  to  cry  out  and  could 
not. 

Suddenly,  far  in  the  distance,  quite  at  the  end  of  the 
clearing,  in  the  dark  cloud  something  white  appeared, 
and  trembled  like  a  white  dove  bathed  in  sunshine.  As 
it  drew  nearer  Tichon  looked  attentively  and  saw  that  it 
was  a  small,  old  man,  quite  white,  who  was  coming  towards 
him  with  quick  movements  as  though  floating  in  the  air. 

He  came  quite  near  and  sat  down  next  to  him  on  the 
root  of  the  pine.  Tichon  felt  he  had  seen  him  before,  only 
he  could  not  remember  where  and  when.  The  old  man  had 
quite  an  ordinary  appearance.  He  seemed  to  be  one  of 
those  pilgrims  who  wander  icon  in  hand  from  village  to 
village,  town  to  town,  collecting  money  for  the  building 
of  a  new  church. 

"  Rejoice  Tichon,  rejoice  !  "  he  said  with  a  tender  smile  ; 
his  voice  was  as  gentle  as  the  hum  of  bees,  or  the  distant 
sound  of  a  bell. 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  553 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  Tichon. 

"  I  am  Ivanoushka.  Don't  you  recognize  me  ?  The 
Lord  has  sent  me  to  you.     He  will  soon  follow  me." 

The  old  man  laid  his  hand  on  the  head  of  Tichon,  who 
felt  appeased,  as  a  child  by  the  caress  of  its  mother. 

"  You  are  weary.  Poor  child  !  I  have  many  children 
like  you.  You  wander  about  the  world  poor  and  aban- 
doned. You  suffer  cold  and  famine,  sorrow,  privation  and 
cruel  persecutions.  Yet  fear  not,  beloved.  Wait  a  little, 
I  will  soon  unite  you  all  in  the  new  Church,  the  Church  of 
Christ  who  is  to  Come.  There  was  the  ancient  Church  of 
Peter  the  indestructible  rock.  There  will  be  the  new  Church 
of  John,  the  Winged  Thunder.  The  Thunder  will  strike  the 
rock  and  out  will  gush  the  living  waters.  The  first  Testa- 
ment was  the  Old,  the  kingdom  of  the  Father  ;  the  second 
Testament,  the  New,  or  the  Kingdom  of  the  Son  ;  the 
third  Testament,  or  the  last,  the  Kingdom  of  the  Spirit, 
one  in  three  and  three  in  one.  And  the  three  make  but 
one.  Faithful  is  the  Lord  who  promises,  who  is  and  was 
and  is  to  be  !  " 

The  old  man's  countenance  suddenly  became  quite 
young.  It  was  the  face  of  an  immortal.  Tichon  recog- 
nized John,  the  Son  of  Thunder. 

The  old  man  raised  his  arm  towards  the  black  sky  and 
cried  with  a  loud  voice  : — 

"  The  Spirit  and  the  bride  say.  Come.  And  let  him  that 
heareth  say,  Come.  He  which  testifieth  these  things, 
saith.  Surely  I  come  quickly.  Amen,  Even  so,  come.  Lord 
Jesus !  " 

"  Even  so,  come,  Lord  Jesus,"  repeated  Tichon ;  he  too 
raised  his  hand  to  the  sky  with  great  joy  akin  to  great  fear. 

A  lightning  flashed  white  across  the  black  sky ;  it  seemed 
the  heavens  were  literally  rent  in  twain. 

And  Tichon  saw  the  image  of  a  Son  of  man,  his  head  and 
his  hair  were  white  like  wool,  as  white  as  the  snow  ;  and  his 
eyes  were  as  a  flame  of  fire  ;  and  his  feet  like  unto  fine  brass, 
as  if  they  burned  in  a  furnace  ;  and  his  countenance  was 
as  the  sun  shineth  in  his  strength.  And  seven  thunders 
uttered  their  voices  : — 

"  Holy,  holy,  holy,  is  the  Lord  God  Almighty,  which 
was  and  is  and  is  to  come  !  " 


554  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

And  when  the  thunders  stopped  a  great  silence  ensued, 
and  through  the  stillness  sounded  a  voice  more  quiet  than 
the  stillness  : — 

"  I  am  Alpha  and  Omega,  the  beginning  and  the  end, 
the  first  and  the  last.  I  am  alive  and  was  dead  and  shall 
live  from  eternity  to  eternity.     Amen." 

"  Amen,"  repeated  John,  the  Son  of  Thunder. 

"  Amen,"  repeated  Tichon,  the  first  Son  of  the  new 
Church  of  the  Spirit.  He  fell  upon  his  face  as  one  dead. 
He  was  struck  dumb  for  ever. 


He  recovered  in  the  cell  of  Father  Sergius.  The  hermit 
had  been  troubled  about  Tichon  the  whole  day.  He  had 
a  vague  presentiment  that  some  evil  would  befall  him. 
Again  and  again  he  came  out  of  his  cell,  calling,  "  Tichon, 
Tichon,"  but  no  one  replied,  the  echo  alone  broke  the  hush 
which  precedes  thunderstorms. 

When  the  cloud  spread  over  the  sky  it  grew  dark  as 
night  in  the  cell.  A  lighted  lamp  shone  dimly  at  the  far 
end  where  both  monks  were  praying. 

Father  Hilarion  was  chanting  the  psalm  : — 
"  The  voice  of  the  Lord  is  upon  the  waters :   the  God  of 
glory  thundereth  :    the  Lord  is  upon  many  waters. 

"  The  voice  of  the  Lord  is  powerful  ;  the  voice  of  the 
Lord  is  full  of  majesty." 

Suddenly  a  dazzling  white  light  filled  the  cell,  followed 
by  such  a  deafening  peal  of  thunder  that  it  almost  seemed 
as  if  the  rock,  forming  the  cell,  had  been  shattered. 

The  two  old  men  ran  out  and  saw  the  dry  pine,  which 
rose  by  itself  above  the  underwood  on  the  border  of  the 
clearing,  was  burning  like  a  candle,  against  the  black  sky. 
The  lightning  had  struck  it. 

Father  Sergius  began  to  run,  crying  in  a  loud  voice, 
"  Tichon  !  Tichon  !  "  Father  Hilarion  followed  him.  They 
found  Tichon  lying  unconscious  at  the  very  foot  gi  the 
burning  tree.  They  lifted  him  up,  and  carried  him  into 
the  cell,  where  they  laid  him,  there  being  no  other  bed, 
in  one  of  the  coffins.  At  first  they  thought  he  had  been 
killed  by  the  lightning.  Father  Hilarion  was  getting  ready 
to  say  the  prayers  for  the  dying,  but  Father  Sergius  stopped 


THE  COMING  CHRIST  555 

him  and  began  to  read  the  Gospels.  When  he  came  to  the 
passage,  "  Verily,  verily  I  say  unto  you,  the  hour  is  coming  and 
now  is,  when  the  dead  shall  hear  the  voice  of  the  Son  of  God  :  and 
they  that  hear  shall  live,"  Tichon  opened  his  eyes.  Father 
Hiiarion  almost  fell  to  the  ground.  He  thought  Father 
Sergius  had  raised  the  dead. 

Tichon  soon  recovered.  He  got  up  and  sat  down  on  a 
bench.  He  recognized  Father  Sergius  and  Father  Hiiarion, 
understood  all  they  said  to  him,  but  unable  to  speak  himself 
answered  by  signs.  At  last  they  saw  that  he  was  dumb. 
They  surmised  that  the  sudden  shock  had  robbed  him  of 
his  speech.  His  face  was  radiant.  There  was  something 
awe-inspiring  in  this  radiance,  as  though  he  had  really  risen 
from  the  dead. 

They  sat  down  to  a  meal.  Tichon  ate  and  drank. 
After  the  meal  they  prayed.  For  the  first  time  Father 
Hiiarion  prayed  with  Tichon.  He  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten he  was  a  heretic  and  felt  towards  him  a  reverence 
mingled  with  awe. 

Then  they  went  to  bed.  The  old  men  as  usual  in  their 
coffins,  Tichon  in  the  front  room  on  the  stove. 

The  storm  was  raging ;  the  wind  howled  ;  rain  was  pour- 
ing down.  Waves  were  beating  up  on  the  lake  ;  the  thunder 
rolled  and  the  window  was  illumined  by  an  almost 
uninterrupted  white  light,  which  mingled  with  the  red 
light  of  the  lamp,  burning  in  the  depths  of  the  cave  before 
the  image  of  the  "  Unhoped-for  Joy."  Yet  to  Tichon  that 
was  no  lightning  but  the  white  radiant  light  of  the  old  man 
who  was  bending  over  him,  talking  to  him  about  the 
Church  of  the  Sons  of  Storm,  caressing  and  loving  him. 
He  fell  asleep  to  the  noise  of  the  storm,  as  a  child  to  the 
lullaby  of  its  mother. 

He  woke  early,  long  before  the  dawn.  Hurriedly  dressing 
himself  he  took  up  his  staff,  went  up  to  Father  Sergius, 
who  was  yet  asleep  in  his  coffin,  like  Father  Hiiarion, 
knelt  and  kissed  his  forehead  very  gently,  so  as  not  to  wake 
him.  Father  Sergius  opened  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  raised 
his  head,  and  murmured  "  Tichon  !  "  Yet  the  next  instant 
he  let  it  fall  back  on  the  stone,  which  served  him  as  pillow, 
and  fell  into  a  still  deeper  sleep. 

Tichon  went   forth   out  of   the   cell.     The   storm   had 


556  PETER  AND  ALEXIS 

abated.  Again  great  silence  reigned  upon  earth.  Only 
from  the  wet  branches  of  the  trees  drops  were  falling.  The 
air  was  filled  with  the  resinous  scent  of  pines.  Above  their 
black  tips  the  pallid  semicircle  of  the  moon  appeared  upon 
a  sky  flushed  with  the  breaking  dawn. 

Tichon  went  on  his  way  light  of  heart,  vigorous  and  brisk, 
as  if  borne  along  by  an  over-great  joy.  And  he  knew  he 
would  walk  thus,  eternally  dumb,  till  he  had  traversed 
all  the  ways  of  the  world  and  entered  the  Church  of  John. 
Then  would  he  cry  aloud,  "  Hosanna  to  the  coming  Christ !  " 

In  order  not  to  get  lost  he  walked  along  the  high  ridges 
of  the  hills  whence  he  could  see  the  shore  of  the  lake.  In 
the  distance  on  the  horizon  lay  a  storm-cloud,  still  livid, 
black  and  terrible,  hiding  the  rising  sun.  Suddenly  the 
first  rays  pierced  it  like  sharp  spears  and  forth  gushed 
shafts  of  fire,  streams  of  blood.  It  might  have  been 
fancied  that  in  the  prophetic  heavens  the  last  battle,  which 
would  end  the  world,  was  being  fought  already,  "  Michael 
and  his  angels  waged  war  against  the  dragon  ;  and  the 
dragon  fought  and  his  angels, 

'^  And  prevailed  not,  neither  was  their  place  found  any  more 
in  heaven. 

"And  the  great  dragon,  that  old  serpent,  called  the  Devil, 
was  cast  out  of  the  heavens."  The  sun  was  emerging  from 
behind  a  cloud,  radiant  in  its  force  and  glory  like  unto 
the  face  of  the  Coming  Lord,  and  Heaven  and  earth  and  all 
creation  joined  in  the  hymn  to  the  rising  sun. 

"  Hosanna  !     Light  will  overcome  Darkness." 

Tichon  ran  down  from  the  mountain  as  if  flying  to  meet 
the  sun.  His  eternal  dumbness  was  itself  hymn  to  the 
Lord  that  was  to  come  ! 

Hosanna  !  Christ  will  overcome  the  Antichrist ! 


FINIS 


CO 


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